Mask
by Megknsis
Summary: When Warren Peace meets Gwyneth Patrick, a timid ice girl with a warm heart in Freshman Mad Science, neither of their lives will ever be the same again.
1. First Day

**Mask**

_Description: When Warren Peace meets Gwyneth, a timid ice girl with a warm heart, as a freshman, neither of their lives will ever be the same._

Rated _. Friendship, Courage, School, Underdog, Some Hurt/Comfort.

**I own nothing but my characters, Gwyneth, Kat, Becky, and Emily. I did NOT come up with the original concept of Gwyneth, as anyone who has seen Sky High knows. **

**I know this fandom is particularly small, probably nonexistent by now, as Sky High came out in like 2005, but I literally saw it just a couple weeks ago for the first time. I was intrigued by the relationship between Warren Peace and the unnamed Freeze Girl, so I began developing their backstory and Gwyneth's character, and this story and its sequel-yes, there WILL be one-were the result. **

**I also looked for other fanfics for this pairing, out of curiosity, to see what other people have done with this nameless character who comes in…and found almost zip. Well, there were two stories, but both seemed super cliché and I didn't fall in love with them. And in other stories, it always seems like the Freeze Girl is made into a super bitch **

**I felt this was unfair, and didn't necessarily have to be true. Just because her power was ice doesn't mean she has to be ice on the INSIDE too. It would be more interesting to make her heart unlike her power…even to make her uncomfortable with the abilities she has. (Hint.)**

**I like to think I didn't really change her—although she isn't a Barbie like in the movie, though she stays blonde. But she never got a personality, so I thought I should make her unique and likable, and my brain started turning out a potential back story for her and a history that her and Warren that would make him want to take her hand and walk off to dance with her. Her character is actually based off a good friend of mine—if you graduated a couple years ago and your initials are EQ. (Hint, hint.) So, here goes **

**Plus, any opportunity to write or think about Warren Peace was welcome ;)33 3 So please read, comment if you wish. I am a budding writer with ambitions to be published, and this is excellent practice as well as good fun, so constructive criticism is always appreciated! I'm 17, though, and utterly new to this, so just remember to cut me some slack. **

**Read and review! Just remember to be nice. If you're being negative, I want criticism on my writing, my characterization, NOT somebody just whining about how my story is stupid. I would LOVE any reviews. Reviews are love…even if I only get reviews from the few friends who I told about this (wink, wink, hint…)**

**To all bookworms(or storyworms), bon apetit!**

Chapter One First Day

**This first chapter is a little slow, because it develops the main character, and delves into her memories and her anxiety on the first day of school. Just hang in there. It'll get more exciting, trust me.**

**Oh...and note for previous readers...I added a slight note about Gwyneth's white streak here and in the next chapter.**

Memories are ghosts inside us.

That's the first thing in my head when I wake up, though the thought isn't nearly that articulate. I'm a zombie until I fully wake up, and my brain doesn't fully wake up until about 9 a.m. It's more of a feeling than anything, but the concept is there. Even if I could forget, the memories come into my dreams, like they have for the past week. Some are like Casper, friendly. Others, like a lot…yeah, they're more like Marley's ghost, the one that scared the life out of Ebenezer Scrooge.

I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them. Though I am awake, the dream I just left still echoes in my brain. I can hear the harsh voices of the men, my gasps of terror. I hear TJ's voice,

"_Gwyneth, go! Get out of here! It's you they want! They don't care about me!"_

"_No! I'm not leaving you!"_

I press my face into the pillow. I can't run from the recollections. How can I run from something in my head? Memories _are _like ghosts, to me, and I cannot escape the haunting. This is the third nightmare in a row this week. They started last Monday. How many more am I going to have?

I see the face of the man standing in front of me, his gun aimed at my head. I freeze with terror. Then TJ jumps in front of the gun as the man's finger starts to curl on the trigger, and I hear myself scream in rage and horror as I lose control, my hands glowing bluish white…

"Gwyneth!"

I raise my face out of the pillow. My mom's pleasant voice calls from the kitchen. "Gwyneth, honey, it's time to get up!" She sounds so cheerful and gentle as always, that I begin to calm down. "It's a big day, first day of school!"

Big day. I shut my eyes. This is the day I've dreamed about for most of the summer, the day I would finally get to attend the one high school suited for kids like me, the school my mom attended; Sky High. I remember thinking that this would be the best day of my life. High school should be great, I tell myself. _Should _be.

I groan and slowly raise myself out of the pillows. Don't mope, I think. That's the past. Your first day awaits. This is The Day, the one I've been waiting for since I was a little kid. And even if I'm not as thrilled as I should be, I can't lie in bed forever.

I slowly sit up and swing my legs out of bed, feeling the smooth wood floor beneath my feet. Its familiar surface gives me a feeling of control.

Slowly, feeling early-morning stiffness, I stand. I feel my hair and see it's almost dry. Rinsing out my mouth and splashing my face with water does something to bring me back to life, and makes me feel slightly alert. I gaze into the mirror, my face dripping water, and take a deep breath. Time to face the world.

Mom's voice calls out to me again as I head down the hallway, "Honey, come on! It's time to get up-," she stops short as I trudge into the living room. "Oh, there you are."

My mother is the famous retired superheroine Shadow. She can turn invisible and walk through walls, and she's also known as Samantha Patrick, part time interior designer and full time mom.

"Hi, Mom." I hug her as she nearly squeezes the breath out of me. I breathe in cinnamon perfume and hug her warm and solid body, twice as large as her skinnier daughter.

I love Mom so much. She's the sort of person who can make anyone feel better just by walking into the room. Her cheerful smile and perpetual optimism would defy the frowns of the greatest pessimist on Earth. Lucy van Pelt would be hard-pressed to find anything grouchy to say around my mother because she's so _nice._

"Your breakfast's ready, hon." Mom leads me into the dining room where Grayson is absorbed in the back of his Cocoa Puffs box. "I made your favorite—French toast and frosted flakes!"

"Thank you." I sit down at the table across from Grayson. He looks more like Mom than I do—his features straight straight and regular, unlike my rather pointed, angular face and bird nose (thanks a lot, Dad.) Mom calls it aquiline, the kids at school used to call it a beak. But then, everyone has a different opinion.

"Your big day, honey bun." Dad comes in. He's dressed, ready to go to work, but he wouldn't miss seeing me off on my first day of high school for the world. He reminds a lot of people of Santa Claus; probably partly because he's a big man with a red face, partly because he's so kind and good-natured. I suppose I could see it, if he had a beard to match his prematurely white hair.

"Yeah," I say. I don't want to voice my reluctance; besides, I don't have much choice. The law says you have to go to school, and I'd rather go to this school than any other. "Sky High."

"I remember how nervous I was my first day." Mom sets a plate of French toast in front of me on top of the cereal bowl. I just poured milk into it; a bad idea, since now I have to choose between soggy cereal and lukewarm toast.

I opt for the cereal and start digging in. French toast tastes good at any temperature.

"My father thought for sure I had his superpower, and I hadn't the heart to tell him I didn't. I remember how nervous I felt walking up to the bus and asking the driver if it was the bus to Sky High."

"Yeah, and then a giant robot came and picked up the bus to eat it!" Grayson chimes in.

"The bus driver should have clapped his hand over my mouth," Mom says. "I remember him, John Barber. They gave him the job just because he was a technopath. They really didn't understand technopathy even then, you know."

"What's technopathy?" I ask.

"It's the ability to manipulate technology with your mind," Mom explains. "Some superheroes have this instinctive, innate…connection with all things mechanical or techno-," she pauses, "Technological. Sorry."

She chuckles at herself. "No one has ever understood technopaths until very recently. There are plenty of instances of people in history who had this gift. They were far ahead of their time technologically, which unfortunately also mean they were often looked down on. Some gained fame, like Archimedes, but most simply feel through the cracks—that was true even when I was in school. Why, there was this girl, Sue Tenny-,"

"Honey," Dad reminds her, "Grayson has to be at school in twenty minutes."

"Oh, right." Samantha shook her head and looked misty-eyed. "I can't believe my baby is in high school. It seems like just yesterday you were drawing on the walls and using floaties in the pool."

I roll my eyes a little, but then Mom gives me a hug. She pecks my cheek and whispers, "I shouldn't expect you to never grow up. You're going to save the world someday, and I couldn't be more proud."

I try to smile a little, ignoring the thoughts that bubble up automatically, against my will. _How can I save the world? Doesn't she remember what happened just last week? How can I help others when I can't even help-_

_No. _I push the thought firmly to the back of my head. Now is not the time for dark thoughts. Today is my day.

"Thanks, Mom," I manage.

Mom touches Grayson's shoulder. "Come on, honey bunny," she said, "Are you done with breakfast?"

"Almost," Grayson responds, though with cereal in his mouth it's more like "Mm-uhms."

"Don't talk with your mouth full, sweetheart." Mom starts going through her large black purse which sits on the "marble" countertop.

Dad comes in and kisses my cheek. "Have a good day at school, honey."

"I will, Dad. Love you."

"I love you, too." Dad hugs Mom and ruffles Grayson's hair. "I'll see y'all tonight."

"See you, tonight. Love you, honey," Mom hugs Dad back and I smile. Grayson rolls his eyes a little and mutters, "Mushy. _Gross._"

"It is not gross." Mom says with dignity as Dad lets go. "It's called love."

"Cooties." Grayson wrinkles his nose. "Yuck."

"Have a good day, kiddo." Dad smiles and leaves by the glass door on the side of the house. He locks it and then heads for the truck.

Grayson slurps down the last of his Cocoa Puffs and drinks the chocolate sludge out of the bowl. "I'm done."

"Good." Mom bustles around, getting last minute things. "Now go brush your teeth and get your school stuff together, all right?"

"Okay," Grayson agrees, and hops off his chair. A few minutes later he and Mom are ready to leave.

"Have a good day at school, Grayson." I smile at my little brother. He's going into first grade. He's still (temporarily) powerless, still a normal kid. He can just enjoy his life. I can never help but wonder if he'll get lucky and inherit Mom's powers. I'm not sure I'll like it if what happened to me will happen to him.

"I'll see you tonight." I hug Grayson. "Have a good day."

"You too, hon." Mom squeezes me tight and whispers, "It's your first day of school. New school, new start."

I try to respond but the words I want to say stick in my throat.

New start? Should I really be the one to have a life? _Can_ I? No one will want to talk to me if they find out what really happened two weeks ago.

When I manage to speak I mumble, "I don't…I don't know how to demonstrate my powers without…how do I do it?"

"Oh." Mom looks a little taken aback. "Oh. I guess we never thought of that…," she hurries off, looking vaguely around. She heads into the game room, then all at once I hear her exclaim, "Oh!"

"What?"

"Here!" Mom comes back with a Ping-Pong ball. How that got there I don't know, but heck—it's the game/music/miscellaneous room. Everything is in there. "Freeze this. And drop it on the ground, too, to show that it's really frozen."

"Oh!" I hesitantly accept the Ping-Pong ball. "Thanks, Mom."

"Here you go, honey." Mom smiles at me a little wistfully, then she kisses my cheek. "Have fun at school, Gwyneth. Make friends!"

A minute later my mother and brother are gone, and I am alone in the house.

I clear the dishes, rinse them, and put them in the sink. Then I head to my room and change into the clothes I picked out yesterday; a sky blue polo shirt, clean jeans, and my favorite musical note sneakers. I brush my teeth and my blonde, straight hair and clean my glasses.

Well...blonde, all except for that stupid white streak I acquired last week. It's small and extremely thin, almost unnoticeable, but it just stands out. Hopefully nobody will ask about it, or they'll assume I bleached it.

I take my house key, pick up my iPod and headphones and put them in my pockets. I turn off all the lights and make sure the doors are locked, and leave the house.

Everything looks so bright and cheerful in the warm sunshine that I feel a sense of hope. My nightmare and my worries seem far away. Maybe this will be a good year after all. I mean, this is high school. It's Sky High. What could go wrong?

I turn on my iPod and flip through my playlists. Every single time before I go off to an important event or before I'm about to start something big, I always like to start off with a good theme song. I know it's totally a cheesy urge and most people would call it childish, but I think everyone would benefit from starting the day with music that amps them up. And right now I have my favorite pump-up underdog song of all time. I plug my earbuds into my iPod nano, clip it to my jeans and stick in my earphones.

The bursting guitar chords cut into my brain like karate chops. Almost without realizing it, I start striding along more confidently, almost aggressively. My steps fall into rhythm with the music.

Then the guitars go to full rocking mode. Nobody's watching, so I throw a few fake punches in front of me and sing along.

"_Risin' up, back on the street, did my time, took my chances._

_Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet, just a man"_(I always say girl)

"_And her will to survive. _

_So many times, it happens too fast; _

_You trade your passion for glory. _

_Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past, _

_You must fight just to keep them alive..."_

I break into full voice for the refrain. I love this song so much. It always gets me so pumped up that I could willingly fight a hundred ninjas like a badass if I had this song blasting away in my ears. I don't care if it's from the 80s, I don't care if my parents think it's kind of cheesy and it's from a movie I've never seen. This song is my jam.

"_It's the eye of the tiger_

_ It's the thrill of the fight,_

_ Rising up to the challenge of our rival_

_ And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night_

_ And he's watching us all in the eye…of the tiger."_

Someone taps my shoulder and I jump, one of my earbuds tumbling out. A slender blonde girl a little taller than me has fallen into step with me.

"Kat! Jeez!" I hastily pause the music and stuff the earphones into my pocket. "You didn't have to scare me like that."

"Yes, I did." Kat grins at me. She always looks somewhat like a princess or a mermaid, with her long, flowing hair which is a mix between blonde and light brown—dirty blonde, Kat calls it, and her figure which is slim and yet enviably curvy, for a fourteen year old. She could probably be a mermaid, since she has an absolutely gorgeous singing voice. "It's the first day of school! I had to get in a prank. Besides, you'll never guess how I snuck up on you."

"I bet I won't. You live that way." I point ahead. "There's your house, right after this one."

"I flew out my bedroom window, then hid in that tree," Kat points over our shoulders to a sumptuous sycamore just behind us. "Then I waited until I saw you pass underneath me and I dove and landed _right behind _you, and fell into step with you. You didn't even notice."

Katherine Elizabeth Hawke can fly. Her mother has the ability to rocket through the air faster than the speed of sound, and almost of light, so Kat should be able to go supersonic once she's a little older and has more training, though she always worries that she'll never fly as fast as her mom, Nightingale, since her dad's a normal human like mine. She's a pretty strong flier already.

Kat points to my iPod. "You should be more careful. If I'd been a villain, I could have mugged you and stolen your iPod before you knew I was there."

I try to think of a snappy comeback, and fail. She's right; I should be more self-aware. Though it isn't likely that any villain will ever peg me as a future superhero. I'm just an ordinary kid, living in a regular suburb. I don't do anything unusual, and though she's officially retired, my mom's cover is still airtight.

"Well, you shouldn't fly in public," I finally reply. "What if someone saw you?"

"Oh, they wouldn't know it was me." Kat sounds completely sincere and then starts almost whispering . "Lower your-,"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't they know it was you?"

Kat grinned and patted the bag swinging at her side. "I closed up the blinds and curtains, then I put on a black hoodie, a red wig, a beanie, and a mask. I'll show you when we get to school. The mask is CREEPY. Then I climbed out my window. I actually hid behind a tree and made sure no one could possibly see before I quickly snapped off my disguises and shoved them in my bag. If anyone saw me in the tree or leaving my window, which no one could, they probably thought I was some stalker who murdered the real Katherine Hawke."

I cover my mouth so I don't guffaw. "You didn't!"

"I did." Kat looks fairly proud of herself. "You'd be amazed at how quickly I changed. Snapped off the mask, wig, and hat in less than five seconds, got the hoodie off in less than ten. Superman couldn't do a better job."

"Probably not." I shake my head, and add in a fake Russian accent. "You, Miss Katherine, are a mistress of disguise."

"Yes, I am." Kat imitates me, then laughs, a bubbly laugh. "I'm so excited. Today's the day we'll find out if we're Heroes or Sidekicks, and I know we'll make Heroes. Sure thing."

"Well, I know you will. You've got the coolest power ever."

"No, you do." Kat grins and winks. "Your power is _literally _the coolest power ever."

I smiled, tried to summon some excitement. "Yeah." Kat's excitement makes me wistful; it hadn't been so long ago that I felt the same way about my powers—awestruck, excited, eager to show them off. But not now.

We round the corner and I see the bus stop—and a short girl standing at it.

"Becky!" I almost break into a run. She turns and then runs up and hugs each of us.

"Hey, Kat. Hey, Gwyneth!" She smiles her gentle smile. Becky is probably the shortest, and the sweetest, person I know. She's four foot eight and seven eighths of an inch, has soft, feather-light brown hair and a face which is mainly pretty because you can see her nine-foot heart written all over it. She's like me—quiet, and what most would consider shy, but the best person ever. (Well, like me—except for the last bit.)

"Becky!" Kat starts bubbling along, "I scared the mess out of Gwyneth earlier. I'll show you the mask I used." The excitement suddenly melts off her face and she stomps her foot. "Oh my God, I'm stupid! I should have worn the whole disguise!"

"Yeah, but then anyone could have seen you take it off," I say. "You can't be too careful."

Kat sighs. "Yeah, I guess so. But still…,"

We all start chatting, catching up like every trio of best friends/spiritual blood siblings does when they haven't seen each other for a while. We all live practically next door to each other, so we always see a lot of each other during the summer, but we've taken vacations at various times, so it's been three weeks since all three of us were together at the same time. So we're enjoying it and almost don't notice when a yellow, ordinary-looking school bus pulls up right next to us.

We turn as the doors whoosh open. The driver, a heavy, middle-aged guy in an orange and white baseball cap nods to us in a brisk, friendly way.

"Morning!" he says. "Hop on."

I glance at the side of the bus and see nothing but SCHOOL BUS written on the side, a major tip-off. Mom told me about this. She said that The Bus, the one to Sky High, has no name on it, and she described the guy I'm seeing perfectly. All I need now is his name to be sure.

Kat reads my mind, and steps up. "Um, are you Ron Wilson?"

"Yes, indeed." The man then narrows his eyes suspiciously. "Why do you want to know?"

"We're freshmen," Kat stutters, "We…we're going to-,"

"No!" I say, and "Ssshh!" Ron Wilson hisses at the same time. He glares at Kat. "Who are you? Who's your parent?"

"N—Janice Hawke," Kat stumbles, not sure whether to take a risk.

I sense it's time to step up. Hesitantly, I speak. "Um, my mom's Samantha Patrick. She usually goes by Sam."

Ron Wilson's eyes go wide. "Sam Patrick? You're Sam Patrick's daughter?" He beckons me closer, and I hesitantly mount the first two steps. He whispers, "Shadow's daughter?"

"Yeah. She—she told me about you."

A smile breaks out over the man's face. "Why didn't you say so? I knew your mother when we were both freshmen ourselves!" He turns toward the other occupants of the bus, pointing to me like I'm a pop star or something. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet Gwyneth Patrick, daughter of…well, a certain invisible retired…lady, we know!" He beckons to Kat and Becky, and they mount the steps with more confidence. Ron Wilson immediately slams the doors shut behind them.

"Shadow's daughter!" He pats my shoulder. "Your mom saved my life once, you know. She saved the lives of an entire busload of kids—well, not unlike this one. Of course, you probably know the story."

I do. Naturally, I should, since I grew up on the tale of how my mom, a first-day freshman with no powers yet suddenly found she could turn invisible. Not only that, when she turned invisible, she could go through solid surfaces, which enabled her to disarm a robot monster which was about to tear apart her school bus. She became an instant hero, and everyone was so grateful few even remembered that she'd probably summoned the robot by asking if this was the bus to Sky High, and being answered in the affirmative.

Glancing forward, I see the bus about half full. Curious, puzzled, interested, critical, or just blank expressions face me. None looks openly hostile except for this one shadowy figure in the back. I can't see very much of them, since they're slouched in the very last row. The only detail I make out is the shoulder-length dark hair, which leads me to think it's a girl, and the glower that I can feel from rows away.

Instantly, my stomach sinks. _Great. My first day and I've already caught the attention of the loner girl who hates everyone. _I have nothing against loners, being extremely socially awkward by nature, but I don't like being glared at.

This person is a masterful glarer, I must admit. I'd be hard-pressed to find a better hostile, burning stare from the most sinister character in any movie. It's so intimidating it almost impresses me. Seriously, it takes talent to glare like that.

"Why don't you and your friends sit down?" Ron Wilson smiles in a friendly way, and points towards an empty row.

Kat, Becky and I sink into the seat and Ron starts the bus up again. He drives around for almost half an hour, picking up kids until all the seats are full. His driving…okay, isn't the best. He seems to drive safely and doesn't really speed, but he starts jerkily and slams on the brakes every time he stops. I know he's nice, but it makes me wonder why they choose him to be the bus driver.

"I wonder what he's going to do," Becky says. "My mom told me my dad said every bus driver has…well, a little surprise. He takes, quote, "a unique detour" to get to school. She wouldn't tell me about it."

"Oh, great. I hope he doesn't go to train tracks and then stop when a train comes," I say. "My cousin did that ALL the time. He scared everyone to death."

As if her words were a cue, Ron Wilson does a U-turn and swerves hard. We all grab the edge of the seat.

Kat, sitting by the window, turns to us. "Hey, what the heck? He just passed the orange cones and went into a closed lane. He's driving in a lane where there's construction."

"I knew it," I mutter.

Suddenly, seat belts spring out of nowhere. Belts cross each of our chests in X shapes, then fasten to unseen buckles that emerge from the seats, like the restraints on a roller coaster.

"What the…," I try to see out the window, but Kat's head is blocking the way. "Kat—move! What's going on? Can you see anything? Where are we going?"

"We're driving up some bridge," Kat says.

Becky lets out a gasp. "Tell me it isn't that new overpass they're building."

"Hold on, kids!" Ron Wilson yells from the front of the bus. "Is everyone safely strapped down? If you aren't, tell me now!"

"Yes, sir!" Everyone choruses.

"Good!"

Someone cries out from the front of the bus. "Look out, Mr. Wilson! You're driving straight toward a sign that says, 'Road Ends'!"

"WHAT?!" Kat tries to sit up, but the safety straps keep her from moving an inch. She stares out the window.

"Ohhh my Goood!" I breathe through my clenched teeth. I clutch the edge of the seat, and find myself touching both Kat's and Becky's hands. They're holding on, too.

"Heeere we go!" Ron Wilson shouts. "GERONIMO!"

The whole bus drops like a rock. My hair stands straight up, and I would have rocketed to the roof and remained plastered there if the straps hadn't held me down. All ninety-eight point eight pounds of me seem to vanish. I hear Kat and Becky screaming their heads off next to me, and I realize I'm screaming, too. All I can do is shut my eyes and clench my hands and pray I won't throw up. Logically, that should be the least of my worries, but I'm too terrified to think rationally.

Then, all at once, the bus' fall slows down. In approximately three seconds, it goes from free-falling to a slow sinking. I slowly relax and find every muscle in my body is tight as a drum. But just as I begin breathing again, the bus roars beneath us and it _speeds forward._

I shriek again and grab the seat in front of me. We just fell off a bridge, but now we're driving, roaring forward like we're on a solid road. I can't see where we are, and Kat's just screaming.

I'm dreaming. This is a dream. I shut my eyes and clench my teeth. We're going an insane speed, roller coaster of death speed.

"We're flying!" Kat shrieks in my ear.

"You _think?_!" I yell back.

"Iwouldn'tbesofreakingscared, ifIcouldopenawindow!" Kat looks absolutely terrified. I don't blame her. She can fly, so normally she wouldn't be scared, but she's strapped down and the windows are shut. She can't escape, so if the bus falls and we're all crushed, her powers won't help her.

"At least we're not falling!" I manage to shout back over everyone's screams.

Then, incredibly, the bus slows down. We enter a cloud bank, and Ron slows down until we're coasting, like we're driving through a neighborhood. But I can see nothing but blue, and then blank whiteness out the window.

I relax, very slowly, and we all try to peer out the window. Everything is gray, blank slate with no detail or life. "Where…?" I say. "How did we-,"

Suddenly, we break out of the cloud, and I hear a massive gasp.

Finally, I find a space above Kat's head that I can see. I look out, and I can't believe my eyes.

A school building, complete with long concrete steps leading up to it and a large, grassy area crisscrossed with paths hovers, suspended amid the white clouds and blue sky. It has vast front widows, and looks exactly like every other high school building…except it's floating.

"Hoooly cow!" Becky breaths.

"Sky High," Kat murmurs, then I hear her laugh softly. "_No way. _THAT'S why they call it Sky High."

"Sky High!" Ron Wilson repeats. "Kept aloft by the latest in anti-gravity devices…,"

I don't hear the rest, because I'm too busy gawking. This is amazing. Mom never told me the great secret of Sky High's location, and now I see why. I never imagined anything as incredible and crazy as this.

Ron circles over a concrete road, then descends towards the curb in a smooth glide.

"Smooth and easy…," he calls out.

BUMP! Everyone jolts up and down in their seats as Ron touches down.

"Sorry!" he calls as we glide to a stop, an ordinary school bus once more. The seat belts retract into their seats. It could be any other bus, going to any other school. But we're at Sky High.


	2. First Impressions

Chapter 2 First Impressions

**Okay…so here's the next chapter. Here's where you meet another character—the wild card. She also is based off a friend I've long since lost touch with. A lot has happened to her…so this is my tribute to Emily. I love you girl! **

**It's a bit faster, as in stuff actually happens, not just character development, but it does go over Power Placement and the first lunch. I know, I know…the pace will pick up, trust me. You'll meet Warren here…I know. Drooling time (wink.)**

**The note about the friends and the picture with the two guys and the knife is actually drawn from my life. While I haven't moved around and my life has been good, I did indeed have a couple of guy friends learn how to throw knives and get to messing around. I got that actual picture on my phone and kept it until the phone was stolen…sad face. Their names were changed (to protect the innocent—just kidding. Those guys were anything but innocent. I love you two!)**

**Read and review! **

The blood has stopped flowing to our legs, which makes walking a little stiff at first. But soon, we're walking along the grass, towards the school. Looking around, the sky is practically cloudless, and from where we are, we can't see over the edges of the school. If I didn't know better, I'd think we were on an ordinary high school campus. The green grass waves in the gentle breeze and I see a tree or two dotted around campus.

Suddenly, a wicked-looking silver creature jumps into my way, and I leap backwards. "Holy mother!"

I'm facing something which looks like a koala bear crossed with a hedgehog, and it's entirely made of metal. I've seen robots before, but never one that looked like this. It snaps its little hands and makes a screeching noise.

All at once, it tilts its head to the side, and I hear an old man's voice come out of the thing.

"YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"

I burst out laughing, recognizing the quote. "I am a servant of the secret fire," I quote along with the creature, "wielder of the flame of Anor. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of-,"

The voice cuts off as soon as it began. Then, an electric bolt slices through it, and it falls to pieces. Nothing remains of the magnificent little robot creature but a pile of unassuming scraps.

"Hola!" A skinny girl about our age walks up and scoops up the metal heap. She slips the scraps into the front pouch of her black hoodie, zips the pouch shut, and turns to face us.

"Hi," she says, "Just messing with ya. I _love _that you knew that quote. I'm Emily. Emily Braun."

"I'm Gwyneth Patrick," I say.

You know how there are some people who give you a vibe the instant you lay eyes on them? Emily gave me such a strong positive ping that I couldn't help but like her. Her intense blue eyes seem to penetrate straight to the core of my soul, but the mischievous, slightly crazy sparkle in them, and the crooked smile make it abundantly clear that she has a quick wit and a quicker sense of humor. Her half-way down the neck short brown hair reminds me of hawk's feathers—not only their odd but pleasing auburn/brown/blonde hue but their uneven, feather-like ends. It looks like she deliberately cut it poorly, by herself, with a pair of school scissors.

"I'm Kat," Kat speaks up.

"I'm Becky."

"Hello," the girl smiles at each of them. "I am honored to meet you. Shall we walketh?"

She heads straight for the school, but then pauses and waits for us to catch up to her. I fall into step with her, marveling at how natural this feels. I've known this girl for less than a minute, and I can't believe we aren't childhood friends.

"Are you a freshman?" I ask.

"Hell yeah." Emily grins and wiggles her eyebrows. "As are you three, I'm guessing."

"Yeah." I can't do any more small talk without asking, so I ask, "How did you…what was that thing you put in our way?"

"Oh, that's Ferdinand." Emily says casually. "Ferdinand Phillip Fitzpatrick III. I made him yesterday."

"You made him?" Kat asks in amazement and a little incredulously.

"Are there two more like him?" I ask.

"Yep. I mean, that I made him." Emily shook her head. "I didn't make two others. I just put 'the third' on there to make it sound more fancy."

"How did you do that?" Kat gazes at the girl in what could be described as awe.

"I'm a technopath," Emily says. "I can control technology with my mind."

"My mom told me about that," I say. "That's really cool."

Emily looks surprised and pleased. "Well, that's a first. Usually people have no idea what the heck technopathy is."

"I know. I mean, my mom told me." Emily's warm friendly smile keeps me from feeling too nervous. She bites her lip and studies me as if she's debating whether or not to say something.

"Okay...can I ask something? I'm not trying to be mean, just asking," she says with a reassuring smile.

"Sure." I probably should be worried at how easily I say that, but Emily seems _safe _to talk to.

"Is that white streak...am I seeing things, or is a little bit of your hair white? Did you dye it?"

"Oh." I shrug resignedly. "This...no. I didn't dye it, I...I kind of...it just kind of showed up. When I first got my powers."

"Oh, wow." Emily looks impressed. "So what exactly is your power?"

"Cryokinesis," I reply. "I can…freeze things."

"Oh, cool!" Emily winked. "Literally."

I try to laugh at her joke. "Thanks."

"Where do we go again?" Kat looks around.

"The gym." Becky points to the school building. "That's where Power Placement's gonna be."

"Let's rock this bitch, then!" Emily skips just ahead of us, and I have to laugh, even though I don't like it when people curse. Her excitement is so infectious, it's impossible not to get into the same spirit.

We mount about fifty stairs to get to the school, then search for the gym.

Everything seems so new and large and shiny, cloaked in the golden halo of novelty, that I have trouble focusing ,and it takes my friends' tugging to keep me from losing my way. A sign soon points us in the right direction and we find ourselves near the front of a crowd of freshmen making their way through the gym doors.

It looks exactly like any regular old gym at any regular old school; bare, glistening wood boards on the floor, bleachers off to the side, stage and a stage and podium at the furthest end. No one is there, and everyone slowly trails into the middle of the room. I'm not really sure if we're supposed to be here, or what's going on.

"Whoa," Emily suddenly murmurs in my ear, "Look what just made the room temperature go up."

"Huh?" I follow Emily's eyes, and then my stomach jumps.

A kid I never noticed before lingers in the back of the gaggle. He looks exactly like the kind of guy teachers keep a suspicious eye on and everyone would avoid, even the bullies. His black leather jacket, black t-shirt with some sort of swirling pattern on it, faded jeans, and most especially his dark, shoulder-length hair with a random red streak on one side, set him totally apart from the rest of the crowd.

"I wonder who he is," Emily whispers. "And what his phone number is."

I can't help but laugh, though I roll my eyes. "You're already planning a date on the first day of school?"

"As of two seconds ago, yes." Emily smiles and wiggles her eyebrows. "Why not? He's hot, isn't he?"

My face heats up from Emily's blunt and not super-quiet comments, but I glance over at the guy anyway.

His face is curiously distinct, rather exotic-looking. A slightly longer nose than average, finely shaped features, unusually full lips, and dark eyes which are nothing less than…ridiculous and totally Twilight/romance novel-esque at it sounds, smoldering complete a striking picture.

Okay…I'll say it. He w_as _hot, and more than just hot. He had a certain sort of charisma about him, something that drew my eyes back to study his face.

Then the guy turns and looks me right in the eye. I feel as if all the air just deserted my lungs. For a moment, I'm locking eyes with him, but then he shoots me a glare that almost seems to burn through me, and then I realize;

He's the person who was glaring at me on the bus.

Which means the person was a guy.

I turn away and hope I look casual, my face flaming red. The dude's eyes are still on me, for a moment, boring into the back of my head. _Great. Awkward eye contact with a total stranger. What an awesome start to the school year. _

Then I get an even more awkward thought. _Oh…LORD, did he think I was blushing because he looked at me? I mean, I was, but not for _that _reason._

"Well?" Emily's voice pulls me out of my racing thoughts, and I start guiltily. "What do you think?"

I take a deep breath, trying not to seem as flustered as I feel. "I…yeah, I guess."

Suddenly there's a sound like a rain maker, and I turn in the direction of the sound to see a silver comet shoot through the doors and over our heads. Everybody ducks but then I straighten up as the comet comes to hover over the stage, then spirals into the figure of a woman wearing a white business suit.

"Whoa," everyone murmurs. The woman flashes a dazzling smile, then walks up to the podium.

"Good morning, students!" she sounds authoritative yet kindly, and I guess who she is before she introduces herself with a short welcome speech.

"For now," concludes the principal of our school, Principal Powers, "Good deeds and good luck. Comets away!" She turns into a silver meteor and flies straight out the gym doors.

As our heads turn to follow her, I see a large, circular platform rising out of the gym floor, and a tall, middle-aged man in a blue uniform shirt, baseball cap, and white gym shorts that are much too tight standing smack in the middle of it.

"All right, everybody," he announces, and I sense his authority. He rules all things sweaty and physical and athletic, and he seems to have been made specifically for this gymnasium. I can imagine him being born in the locker room.

"My name is Coach Boomer." The man's voice matches the name. "You may know me as Sonic Boom, and you may not. Here's how Power Placement is going to work-,"

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Emily with her hands on her hips, head swaying from one side to the other. Her lips move in unison with the coach's, and I stifle a snort of laughter.

Then I overhear, "And yes, you will do so in front of the entire class."

"What?" I lean over, trying not to whisper too loudly in Kat's ear. "What are we doing in front of the entire class?"

"We're just demonstrating our powers," Kat whispers back. "This'll be fun. Their jaws are gonna _drop _when they see me go."

I can't help but agree, but I try and focus on the coach's speech. Naturally, he finishes up just then, with a term I've never heard, "…there will be no whiner babies."

_Whiner babies?_

He points at a nervous-looking girl in the front row. "You. Name?"

"B-Brittany Smith," the girl mumbles.

"You're first." The coach points to the floor beside him, his voice sarcastic. "Let's go, sweetheart."

I swallow and try to watch the kids going up. It won't help to think about what will happen when my turn comes.

Finally he points at Emily. "All right, kid. You're up next."

Emily casually walks through the crowd, mounting the stairs and strolls to the center of the platform, and I have to admire her nonchalance. She alone doesn't seem fazed by the intimidating Coach Boomer.

"Name?"

"Emily Braun."

"Power."

Emily just smiles and unzips the pocket of her hoodie. She dumps all the scraps I saw before onto the ground.

"Tinker toys?" The coach inquires incredulously.

"Please, good sir," Emily responds coolly, "In a moment, I will show you that Ferdinand is no mere tinker toy."

"Who the heck is Ferdinand?"

Emily stands up and then passes her hand over the scrap pile. Electricity arches out of her fingertips and dances through every piece, nut, and screw. The conglomeration of parts form themselves into the same snap-clawed metal hybrid that greeted us earlier.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Emily states as proudly as if she were presenting her first child, "I give you Ferdinand Phillip Fitzpatrick III."

"Technopathy, eh?" The coach writes something on his clipboard. "Hero."

"Thank you." Emily waves her hand over the creature again, and the electricity folds him up into a little square briefcase, about the size of a book, which Emily picks up before her confident exit.

"You." The Coach's pointing finger seemed to go right through me. "Front and center."

I swallow hard. Kat squeezes my hand, whispering, "Good luck!"

I make my way through the crowd, trying not to look sideways. It'll be better if I don't imagine just how many people are staring at me as I slowly mount the platform. My knees have turned to something resembling jelly.

"Name and power."

"G-Gwyneth Patrick," I mumble.

"Who are you talking to, your feet?"

Someone in the crowd snickers. I feel heat rising from my neck into my cheeks and reaching the tips of my ears. "S-sorry. My name is Gwyneth Patrick, and I'm the daughter of-,"

"Did I ask for your life story? Show me your power."

Gritting my teeth, I reply, "Yes, sir." I find myself disliking the coach more every minute. So he's a coach, and he should be a take-charge, authoritative kind of guy. That doesn't mean he has to be so rude and jerkish.

I reach into my pocket and take out a Ping-Pong ball. Someone sniggers, "Cool power, Wonder Woman," and several people stifle snorts of laughter.

I bite my lip and search the crowd for my friends. I see Kat and Becky smiling at me, their eager faces giving me the courage to stay on that platform. Emily gives me a thumbs-up and a wink, and that helps even more.

Holding out the Ping-Pong ball, I clear my throat. "This is…just a small….example of what can happen when I…well…what I can do."

I close my eyes, make myself see icy blue energy flowing from my heart to my hands. I haven't tried this in a week, and I'm almost shaking with nervousness.

A reinvigorating chill arcs through my body and I gasp, my eyes popping wide open. My hands grow cold and a light frost coats the orange sphere.

I hold back, letting the tension build. I allow my mind to wander back to a week ago, that day. Then when the pressure is almost unendurable, I toss the ball in the air and unleash the power building in my hands.

White jets shoot out from my palms and fingertips, spraying the ball as it falls through them. I release the energy with a gasp, catching the ball a foot above the ground. My legs are shaking just from that brief venture.

"What was that?" Coach Boomer stares suspiciously at the Ping-Pong ball and at me.

"Watch," I say, and then I release the ball.

Orange sphere falls to the ground and, instead of bouncing, shatters.

Everyone lets out gasps and cries of shock; then as one they all begin clapping. I flash a diffident smile and fidget, sliding my hands into my pockets, already wishing for release so I can vanish back into the crowd and rejoin my friends.

"Impressive!" Coach Boomer's eyebrows shoot up and he writes something on his clipboard. "Hero. Gwyneth Patrick, right?"

"Yes, sir." Relieved, I scoop up the pieces carefully into my hands. "Can I go now?" I murmur under my breath.

"Sure. Say!" Coach Boomer looks up, his eyes suddenly lighting but not in a warm way. "Is your mother Sam Patrick? Shadow?"

"Yes, sir," I reply uncertainly.

"The one who married some citizen?" Coach Boomer stares at me in a hard way I don't like, as if he's trying to pick me to pieces with his eyes like a puzzle. "Doesn't your mom turn invisible?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Your dad's a citizen, isn't he? He doesn't have any powers?"

"Yes, sir." Hoping I'm wrong about where he's going with this, I blurt, "Mom's grandfather was Jack Frost. The Ice King."

The room falls silent and Coach Boomer stares at me. "Your great-grandfather? What was your grandfather's power?"

"Cryokinesis," I mumble. "And my mom's mother could turn herself into a blizzard." I wish he didn't have to go through and point this out. Now we'll all be treated to the Mystery of the Ages.

"And your mother turns invisible, eh?" Coach Boomer's stare is curious, cold. "So why did the ice powers skip your mom and come to you?"

I fidget and twist the hem of my shirt. I already asked all these questions when I got my powers. Mom didn't have any more answers than I'm going to now.

"I don't know." My voice grows softer as I speak. "My…my mother says we don't always inherit _exactly _the same powers as our parents, and that…having children with someone who isn't a superhero can...do stuff to the children's DNA. Somehow I must have inherited my great-grandfather's powers. I don't know how, or why. Neither does my mom. She said that sometimes these things just…happen. It's extremely rare, but it does happen."

Coach Boomer finally lets go of me with his eyes. "Interesting," he repeats, frowning. "Interesting. All right, Ice Princess. You can go."

Mumbling something like Thanks, I hurry down off the platform, relaxing as soon as I'm back down on everyone's level and not exposed for all the world like a prize animal.

Kat squeezes my hand, the one that isn't holding the shards of frozen Ping-Pong ball as soon as I reach them and whispers, "You did great!" I do my best to smile as I step back into line between Emily and Kat.

Speaking of which, she now makes her way up to the platform with more confidence than I probably did. Coach Boomer gives a her a once-over, and from the look on his face, he doesn't think much of it.

"Name and power," he drones, turning almost tiredly back to his clipboard.

"Katherine Hawke and I can fly." Kat rattles it all off in rapid-fire, but it gets attention. People stare and Coach Boomer's head snaps up. "Katherine Hawke? Your mother-,"

"Nightingale? Yeah." Kat smiles, her face shining and eager, but then she quickly begins to apologize. "I'm sorry, I-,"

"Never mind the apologies. Can you fly?"

Instead of replying, Kat closes her eyes and holds out her arms at her sides. She rises off the ground, slowly at first, but then as her eyes open she rockets towards the ceiling, looking like she hit her head, but then shooting towards the ground in a steep dive. Kat pulls out of it just in time to rocket forward with a squeal of glee, then turn a loop-de-loop and then come back in for a smooth landing on her feet.

"Hero."

Kat returns, a grin stretching across her pretty face.

"You were amazing," I whisper, slapping her hand in a soft high-five.

"Nah, it was nothing."

"Short Stuff!"

Kat winces and I curve my fingers into my jeans. "Did he seriously call Becky _short stuff_?"

"Tact doesn't seem to be his strength," Kat whispers and Becky makes her way up to the platform, murmuring, "Excuse me," as she squeezes through the crowd.

"Name and Power?"

"Becky White, Telekinesis."

Coach Boomer gets a dangerous gleam in his eyes and he takes a remote out of his pocket and presses a button.

"Car!"

A meteor of rusted metal slams toward the small, willowy figure on the ground and the coach. Everyone screams and I instinctively leap forward, closing my eyes at the same time (yeah, that's useful).

When I open my eyes, I see Becky still standing unharmed, her hands thrown up above her head. The car hovers a foot or two at most above her flat palms. The coach has had to duck his head a few inches, but otherwise, he hasn't a scratch, which somehow gives me a twinge of disappointment.

"Next time, be a little faster. But still…," Coach Boomer proudly spells out, "Hero!"

The car retracts at the push of another button and Becky makes her way back to us, her face ghost-white.

"Nice job, Carrie," Emily whispers, grinning shakily.

"It's Becky," Becky whispers back, taking a breath as if to make her body function again.

"Sorry. It's a Stephen King reference."

"I can't believe he did that!" I hiss, barely managing to keep my voice low. "He could have _killed_ you!"

"I'm all right," Becky's much-too-rapid response betrays just how shaken up she is. "I kind of sensed it coming—it's hard to explain. But I felt like I needed to look up—and it worked."

"He still shouldn't have done that," I whisper. Now that I'm over my state of shock, my anger totally takes over. Even if she is telekinetic, and a strong one, Becky could have gotten seriously injured or killed if she hadn't reacted in time.

"Got something to say back there, ladies?" Coach Boomer is staring directly at us, and my face heats up again. I shove my clenching fists in my pockets, a little surprised at myself.

"No, sir," we all say.

"Good." The bell rings and Coach Boomer glances at his watch. "We'll pick up right after lunch."

Everyone heads towards the doors, the other kids chattering and laughing. Emily doesn't say much, except at one point, where she whispers, "Well. That guy's not a douche at all."

I can't help but grin. I can't really argue with that.

The lunchroom, by contrast, is ordinary, just as crowded and noisy as any other. The mundane atmosphere makes me relax. It almost lets me forget I have powers.

"Oh, there's a table." Kat points at an empty table, where we all take our seats. None of us ordered lunch today—even Emily. I didn't feel adventurous enough to try the cafeteria food yet.

"So!" Emily shoots me that warm grin. "What'd you guys think?"

"I like it," Becky says, "Except for Coach Boomer dropping a car on me."

"And calling out my powers," I put in.

"Hey, at least we're all heroes." Kat unwraps her sandwich, but she keeps talking eagerly. "Which means we're all going to have similar classes…and lunch together…this is going to be great."

"We should be a team when we graduate," Becky chimes in. "Us three and…you can join if you still want to and we still talk to each other." This was to Emily.

"Definitely." Emily drums her fingers on the table. Her other hand slides into her pocket, fiddling with Ferdinand or something else in there. She always seems to feel a need to do something with her hands. Probably comes from being a technopath.

"What should we call ourselves?" She shakes her head. "Too bad the Fantastic Four is already taken. Losers."

"Hey!" Kat protests. "The Fantastic Four are awesome!"

"Meh. They're okay." Emily shrugs. "Give me the Justice League, Commander and Jetstream, or the Avengers any day."

"How about," Kat says through a bite of PB&J, "The Four Musketeers!" I almost choke laughing on my juice and Emily pounds me on the back.

"Thanks…," I gasp. "I'm good."

"What school did you go to," Kat says, "Before this one?"

"I went to Nucane Junior High." Emily peels a banana and begins to eat.

"I've never heard of that," Becky frowns. "It must be here in Maxville…,"

"It wasn't. It was in," Emily swallows, "Nebraska."

"You lived in Nebraska?" I ask. "When did you move here?"

"Two months ago." Emily avoids my eyes, but I tell myself she must be concentrating on her lunch.

"Have you moved around a lot?" Kat says.

Emily lets out a short, light laugh, but it sounds just a little forced. "Yeah."

"Your dad must get transferred a lot."

"Kind of." Emily's voice is definitely tight now. Before I have time to wonder about it, Emily quickly cuts in with, "Want to see some pictures of my friends in Nebraska?"

All is forgotten then as Emily shows us the background of her phone. Two boys stand next to each other. But the first thing I notice is the knife in the one's hand and the terrified look in the other's eyes.

"Wyatt and Dan were messing around," Emily says. "Wyatt throws knives, so they had me take this picture where Wyatt pretended like he was gonna murder Dan or something. They're goofballs. I've kept that picture ever since."

"Your friends must be fun," I say sincerely.

"They were." Emily looks so wistful as she speaks. "I wish…," she shakes her head. "Oh, well. I still keep in touch with them. They were the best thing about that damn place."

"You didn't like Nebraska?" I ask a little diffidently.

"No." Emily leans back. "So, have you three been best friends since you were in diapers, or later?"

The rest of the lunch period passes quickly through the stories of how Kat, Becky, and I all met in kindergarten and third grade and endured middle school together. It seems like just five minutes before the bell rings and we all start throwing away our trash and packing our lunches again.

Coach Boomer is waiting when we return to the gym. "All right, let's get this thing going. Contrary to what you might believe, we don't have all day."

He turns to us. "All right, you there. Let's go."

The rest of the day is spent in the same way. Now that I don't have to worry about waiting my turn, it's actually fun to see some of the other kids' powers. One girl apparently had the ability to create duplicates of herself, another could stretch any part of his body, and another could run at super speed.

Then, towards the end of the afternoon, Coach Boomer called out, "You! Kid with the hair. Let's go."

I turn and find myself almost facing the long-haired guy from earlier. He shoulders through the crowd—not that he has to do much of that, seeing the way the kids are practically tripping over themselves to get out of his way, almost brushing me as he passes. I feel just the slightest degree of warmth wash over my arm as he walks by.

The guy climbs the steps and almost strolls to the center of the platform. He turns to face the other students, who are whispering among themselves, and I can feel the scorching glare from where I stand.

"I can't believe it," a girl in front of me whispers. "It's actually him."

"Who?" I whisper.

She turns a surprised face on me. "You _know._ Warren Peace."

"Who's Warren Peace?" I ask, but then Coach Boomer starts to speak and I stop talking.

"Name and power."

"Warren Peace," the boy echoes the girl's words. His voice is rather low for a freshman.

The name drops into the room like a bomb of some kind. Everyone begins whispering and muttering, throwing glances towards the boy that from where I stand, don't somehow look friendly.

Coach Boomer's head really shoots up at the sound of it, and he stares at the boy with a look of shock, apprehension and almost...dislike? But why would he dislike a kid he'd never met before?

"You're Baron's kid?"

Warren turns the full force of his absolutely lethal glare on the coach. That one sentence made his whole body tense up and even though his hands are in his pockets, I have a feeling he's clenching his fists.

"Yeah," he snaps. "What about it?"

The coach apparently ignores that question. "Power? Your mother's or your father's?"

That gets my attention. It isn't often that we have kids in the school who have two super parents. Most, like Kat, Becky, and myself, have only one.

For an answer, Warren closes his eyes and draws his lips back into a snarl. He lets out a small guttural noise in his throat, throws his arms and shoulders back a few inches in a motion that reminds me of some kid in the hallway, threatening another, saying You wanna piece of me or something like that.

But then I forget all about what it looks like, because when he does that gesture, flames burst out of his hands and arms, coating his upper body in dancing firelight.

Gasps rise from the crowd and someone screams. I cannot scream. All I can do is stare.

Warren Peace can control fire. I've never imagined anything like this, and I cannot tear my awed, terrified gaze from the almost majestic figure on the platform. He stands like some fallen angel in the raging flames of his own creation. The realization of this power is incredible.

Coach Boomer must have yelled something convincing, because all at once the flames go out. I blink in the loss of radiance.

When my eyes adjust, I half expect to see smoking, singed clothes and burn marks on the large tanned hands, but Warren stands there as if nothing happened at all. He then walks across the platform and leaves down the stairs. I realize that Coach Boomer must have stopped him with the announcement of his placement, and I have absolutely no doubt as to which placement Warren Peace got.

I was so totally focused on the scene before me that I only just notice the iron grip cutting off the circulation in my arm and turning, I see Emily's white face and wide eyes. She looks more freaked out than if the guy had been a rattlesnake hissing an inch from her foot. The thinness of the fingers clutching my arm for dear life didn't give away their surprising strength.

She finally looks up and sees me, and releases her death grip. "Sorry," she lets out a shaky laugh. "He just startled me."

"Okay," I reply. I'm a little too shaken by what I just saw to voice the thought that Emily didn't look startled…she looked terrified.

I almost don't hear Coach Boomer say, "Well, that's it for today. Bell's gonna ring any-," a shrill metallic _Bring _cuts in. Perfect timing.

"Class dismissed," the coach states, to my intense relief, and I allow the swirl of students to catch me up and sweep me towards the doors. The chatter gives me an excuse to avoid any awkward silences until we're out in the hallway and Kat's voice makes me pay attention.

"That…," she says, "Was…scary."

"Cool but scary," Becky adds.

"Who was he?" I ask.

Kat gapes at me, as if I just told her that the sun revolves around the earth. "Are you _serious_? You really don't know?"

"All I know is he must be famous or something, since everybody freaked out the second he mentioned his name."

Kat glanced around as if afraid someone would overhear. "You know who Baron Battle is, don't you?"

"How could I _not _know?" Baron Battle, also known as Hellfire or the Inferno, is probably the most famous supervillain of the century. He nearly leveled the entire city of Maxville and also terrorized several nearby towns before he was barely beaten by the Commander and Jetstream and slapped with four life sentences—courtesy of his ability to regenerate out of the flames whenever he dies. He also gave the Sky High a bit of notoriety by having attended _and _graduated with honors from one of its earliest classes, before he turned evil.

"Did you know about his son?"

"His son? He has a kid?"

"Yes." Kat leaned closer. "That's the guy we just saw. Warren Peace."

Whoa.

_Well._

That sure explains a lot. Now I know why everyone reacted the minute the heard his name, and why the coach called him 'Baron's kid'.

I also get why the guy looked so angry.

Glancing around, I spot a dark figure moving through the crowd. Students make every effort to move away the moment they saw him, but I doubt he's naïve enough to think he should appreciate that. As I gaze at the hard-faced boy, I wonder what it would be like to have a villain for a dad. I wonder if he knows his father, if he sympathizes with him or not, whether he loved him, and how he feels about being called a hero.

The sunshine dazzles me when we walk outside. Is the weather always going to be this nice, seeing how high up we are?

Ron Wilson waits for us as we climb onto the bus. "So!" He grins at me. "How was the first day?"

"Okay," I say.

"That's good." He gives the other three a friendly nod.

The ride back isn't nearly as terrifying. Now that I know what to expect, it's like a rollercoaster, which I absolutely LOVE. Kat puts up her hands this time, and I almost do, but I don't quite feel brave enough just yet. Becky also hangs on to the seat in front of her and just grits her teeth until we land.

When the bus reaches Becky's street, she hugs us. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."

After much hugging she leaves down the aisle. Emily moves into the seat by me and Kat so that we all squeeze closer together.

"I live a block away," Kat stated. "So does Gwyneth."

"So you all live right next to each other? Nice." Emily grinned, so wistfully I wondered if she'd ever had a steady friendship that lasted from early childhood. Knowing what I did about how much she'd moved, it didn't seem likely.

"Yeah." Kat bubbles on. "It's like we grew up together. We say we're like spiritual blood siblings. We even had a blood-sisters ceremony in eighth grade."

Emily's eyebrows rose. "You cut your arms and mingled each other's blood at midnight or something?"

"We gave each other paper cuts," Kat looks a little startled.

"Sorry. Just asking." Emily held up her hands and grinned. "The way you said it it totally sounded like you had some secret mystical borderline-demonic ritual or something."

"It kind of did," I grin.

Just then the bus pulls up at Rose Hill Drive, the street where Kat and I both live.

"We get off here." Kat turns to Emily.

"Will we see you tomorrow?" I ask hesitantly.

"I don't see why not." Emily shrugs and gives that brilliant, sparkling grin. "We might not be on the same bus, but I'll find you guys. If only in the cafeteria. We're all heroes, so who knows? We might have classes together."

"That would be awesome."

"Girls!" Ron Wilson has a slightly annoyed tone, but his expression is rather tolerant. He's a pretty likable bus driver, I decide, and there are much, much worse drivers we could have had. Trust me: I've lived through middle school. "You getting off?"

"Yes, sir." Kat is always so polite. Emily gets up to let us get out. "Bye…Emily. See you tomorrow?"

"Hells, yes." Emily waves at us, and I have to smile back at her. In the short time I've known Emily Braun, I like her. I really, really do. Maybe high school won't be so bad after all.

**Sorry if the ending is slightly cliché, but I promise, I SWEAR things will start picking up from here, so don't fret. I just had to get through the first day and all the beginning set up and crap. Plus, I always wondered how exactly Warren's power placement went, and how people reacted…heheheh**

**The next chapter is where our heroine and our favorite flamethrower FINALLY have a conversation. Just for a hint…this is meet cute in the freaking FLESH. At least IMO.**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

How to Make a Friend, Lose a Friend, and Piss off your Lab Partner in Less Than a Day

**Sorry I couldn't put this title into the document title. Too long, apparently :P Oh well.**

**The next updates will be spaced further apart like the time between the first and second chapters…so I'm apologizing in advance. Why? Two words: School, and…oops, a phrase…I have a real life. Contrary to what my activity on this site would seem to imply. **

**But despite this factor, I will NOT be one of those people who starts a fic, gets to this amazing, tense climax and DOESN'T FINISH THE DAMN STORY AND NEVER UPDATES AGAIN-(Oopsie, a pet peeve. Sorry.) I intend to finish what I started, even if I get flamed for it, which, thank God, hasn't happened yet. Nor do I believe it will happen, this fandom being as old and teeny as it is. Aaah, the blessings of nonpopularity!**

**There's a POV switch at the end. First, it goes to Warren. I thought you should see Warren's first impressions of Gwyneth…if you want more of his POV (I imagine you do;) ) if so, tell me and I might accommodate you. Then I switch—for the only time in this story—to an outside third-person POV. Just for a brief space, to show the two's thoughts about each other.**

**Reviews are ALWAYS welcome so if you read this and enjoyed it review please please pretty please with sugar and cherries on top!**

**Incidentally, thank you to everyone who has left reviews so far. So far they've all been positive, which is awesome considering it's my very first fanfic ever, so I'll take it as a good sign.**

**(Don't worry, ElsaFrozen…I feel sorry for him too. But he won't be alone forever(winks). Gotta feel bad for the lonely awesome flamethrower…)**

**(On a side note…no, I do not have dyslexia.)**

Emily Braun is a woman of her word. We see her on the bus when the three of us search for seats the next morning.

"Hey!" she grins and waggles her fingers in our direction. "Amigas!"

We all have to laugh, and after an awkward moment of wrangling, I wind up sitting next to Emily while Kat and Becky take the row behind us. We talk so much that we forgot entirely about the more exciting part of the ride until the seatbelts cross our chests.

"Oh, hell, yeah!" Emily grins at me, her eyes alight with an almost maniacal gleam. She grips my hand by accident but I didn't care. My stomach is already knotting, my toes tapping, my body tensing in anticipation.

The bus drops, and we all scream, but this time, we aren't just yelling in fear. We are voicing our insane, half-terrified delight. I actually throw my hands in the air and let it all out, whooping and screeching at the top of my lungs, which is so unlike shy introverted me, but I don't care because this is _so freaking awesome_.

Emily is almost cackling next to me, screaming in sheer exhilaration. I can't exactly check and see, but I guessed that since Kat and Becky now know we are not _actually_ about to die, they were loving it. It ended much too soon, with everyone relaxing and sighing into their seats as Ron drives fairly steadily towards the school.

Once again, we land with the same perfect grace as yesterday, and I get off onto what anyone would have thought to be an ordinary high school campus—if they hadn't lived through the crazy ride it had taken to get here, and if it weren't for the occasional kid obviously using their powers and the one or two who coasts down for a landing.

"Oh my God!" Kat points eagerly at a flier, grabbing my arm in her excitement.

When it comes to flying, or music, or anything else Kat is enthusiastic about, she becomes a hyper-excited bubbling five-year-old. Some would find it annoying, but to me, it's one of the myriad reasons our friendship has lasted.

"You think I can do that?" Kat gazes at the fliers in eager longing. "I'd love to fly to school. Once I figured out like our location…do you think it's allowed?"

"It must be. They're doing it."

"Those two things don't necessarily go together, my friend." Emily tinkers, as seems to be usual, making some gadget or other.

"What are you building?"

Emily grins and raises a finger. "Ah, ah. Secret. I'll show you guys at lunch."

"Where exactly are we supposed to go?" I dodged a superfast blur, probably the speedy kid from yesterday.

"Where—oh, yeah." Becky's excited face falls into its thoughtful look. "I guess…they must have something…I don't know."

When we enter the cafeteria, Principal Powers solves the problem for us. She stands just within the front doors, her serene smile in place, repeating in a loud, clear voice, "Go to the tables in the cafeteria to get your class schedules."

We finally find the cafeteria and stand in the freshman line for what seemed like forever before we get our schedules that tell us where we're supposed to go, what our classes are and the order. Emily has Hero History while Kat, Becky, and I have Mad Science, so we separate and the three of us look for our room.

When we enter, Becky and Kat and I all say, "Whoa."

The room looks exactly like the perfect "mad scientist's" lab (forgive the pun): boiling vats of chemicals in the front near the teacher's desk and all sorts of mysterious machines and thingamajigs lining the walls, ranging from frankly scary-looking to downright weird.

"Good morning!" intones a high, clear, perfectly dry voice.

We all turn in the direction of the voice, and my mouth literally falls open, cheesy cartoon-character style, but I can't help it.

A skinny man wearing a white lab coat has just stood up from behind his desk. He's bald, but that's not the freaky part. The freaky part is the man's head itself, which swells and stretches out, leaving his head alone at about half the length of his body.

"Is there something wrong?" The man's brow wrinkles as if in distaste. He looks as if his primary emotion is cold and technical disdain. He studies us curiously, as if we are some new species of trilobite.

"Uh…" Kat's mouth works, trying to form a coherent, polite response, but she can't manage it for a few moments. Then finally she croaks, "Is this…um, Mad Science?"

The man with the huge head sighs. "I should think that would be obvious. The real question is whether you ladies belong in this particular room at this precise time."

I finally manage to close my mouth and swallow. "Um...yes, sir. This is our first class."

The man raises his eyes briefly to heaven, and gives a small gesture towards the black-topped lab tables, occupied by only one pair of students. "Well, then! Since it appears this is your first class—I would suggest you find a seat immediately."

We all slide into chairs at one table, and Becky leans over to me, her eyes wide and her face a little pale. "Who the heck…,"

"I think that's our teacher," Kat whispers.

"Did not expect him to look like a human lightbulb," Becky murmurs.

I stifle a giggle. Mr. Medulla—if that is his name—does look like a lightbulb. I meet his eyes and it takes a superhuman effort to keep from cracking up on the spot, but I quickly flick my eyes to a poster.

Other kids trickle in: some react when they see Mr. Medulla, their jumps and freaked-out expressions revealing them to be just as new as us. Others, however, simply say hi, some even engaging him in a little small talk.

Then at one point, the three of us are talking, I glance up, and freeze, as if my own power turned on me. Warren Peace stalks in, dark and blank-faced as ever. Despite his being just a freshman, he seems almost commanding: his presence makes him seem larger than his slender body. Everyone hushes for a moment when he enters, then stalks through the room and dumps his backpack on the floor beside an unoccupied table in the very back.

After a tense moment, people begin chattering again.

At last, the bell rings and Mr. Medulla steps up to his desk.

"Good morning!" He looks us all over. "This is Mad Science. And I can see by…some of you…that you probably came into Sky High with the naïve assumption that Heroes," he laid peculiar emphasis on the word, "Do not need to study such things as gadgets, gizmos, rays, beams, or even such things as…," he glared around the room, "Chemistry and alien biology."

The thought of alien biology makes me smile. Science has always been one of my favorite subjects, and I always get good grades in that class. I have a very good feeling about this class, which helps me sit through the syllabus, which Mr. Medulla passes out and goes through. I kind of zone out until he says:

"One of the most important aspects of your success—or failure—I could swear he looks at me—"in Mad Science is your lab partner. In a moment, you will pair up with one—and only one-," he scans the room, "Person, which you should be able to do, since there is an even number of students…I would advise you to choose someone with whom you can get along and who will hopefully not prove to be a _distraction_. I will now give you time in which to do so."

I turn to Kat and Becky, who have already turned inward. "Is he serious?" Becky whispers.

"We can pick?" I grin and hold out my hand for a high-five. "Partners?"

"We can't," Becky's face falls. "Remember what he said? No groups of three."

"Oh. Dang. But how are we gonna…who's going with who?"

"Someone has to partner up with someone else," Becky held out a hand. "I propose rock paper scissors."

"A three-way tournament?" I say.

"Yeah. And the person who loses first has to go off with another kid." Becky turned to us. "Is that fair?"

Kat and I both agree, and we scoot in for the contest. Kat and I go first.

"Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!" We both turn up rocks. "Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!"

Kat almost chooses paper, but sees me going for scissors and switches at the last second.

"Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!" I go for scissors again, but Kat chooses rock and lets out a quiet whoop of triumph. But a moment later she gives me an apologetic smile.

"Sorry about that."

"Miss Patrick!" Mr. Medulla fixes me with a sharp eye. "Do you have a lab partner?"

"No," I admit, feeling exposed and a little embarrassed. I knew he didn't mean it, but I wish my lack of a partner didn't have to be made so evident. It brings me back to times in elementary school when everyone else had joined their friends, but no one I knew was in the class and I had to be put with an unwilling pair of strangers.

"Well, then." Mr. Medulla glances around the room. "Is there anyone who does not as yet have a lab partner?"

A single hand goes up in the back of the room, a hand wrapped in a black finger glove. Mr. Medulla raises his eyebrows.

"Well!" he says. "Miss Patrick, it seems then, that your lab partner will be Mr. Peace."

A nervous shiver crawls down my spine, but I pick up my book bag and head for the back of the room. As I pass Kat and Becky's table, Kat casts me a stricken glance, and Becky mouths, 'Good luck.'

_Thank you, guys, for making me even more terrified. 'Good luck and don't die.' NOT HELPING._

Nonetheless, I try to ignore the fear, and walk to the back table where Warren sits silently. His dark eyes rest on me, and I can feel the simmering heat. He doesn't seem to be any happier with being forced together with someone than I am. At least the vibes coming from him, while not overly pleased, don't seem actually hostile. Yet.

I set my bag on the floor next to the desk and slide gently into the chair next to Warren. His eyes linger on me for another moment, then flicker away. Other than that, he never acknowledges my presence at all.

I instantly realize that this guy is not exactly going to be Mr. Social. It's up to me to initiate the conversation if this year isn't going to be really awkward.

"Hey," I say, hating the nervous/shy quiver in my voice. At least I said it. It's always a decent start.

"Hello," Warren replies. His voice is slightly deeper than usual for a freshman boy, and his tone is also considerably less friendly.

I rack my brain, frantically trying to come up with something_, anything_ to say, but Mr. Medulla ends my torment.

"Since these will be your partners for the duration of the semester, I hope you are happy with your choice. If not...," he paused. "Too bad."

He looks around. "Since there are only four and three quarters minutes in class, you may have the rest of the period to yourselves. However, I would like you to sit and introduce yourself to your partners."

_Wunderbar. Cripes, this is just terrific. Oh, well, at least he won't think I'm awkward because I'm shy—hey, maybe he's shy, too! I hope that's it. _

I steal a sideways glance at Warren and groan silently, while trying to encourage myself. It can't be that bad. Warren's just hard to draw out. I'll have to work harder to get him to talk, but at least he's talked to me, not told me to screw off, which is what he looked like he was thinking. But it doesn't keep me from remembering my painful shyness, and how I do well with people if they seem friendly, and someone who is CLEARLY NOT…I already feel so jittery and self-conscious I can barely keep my hands still.

Warren just stares ahead, not looking anywhere else. It's as if he doesn't notice me, or, more likely, is trying to pretend I don't exist.

Not an encouraging thought.

I almost feel a sense of relief when Warren reaches into his backpack, drags out a book, and begins to read. It's an unusually large book, and I catch a glance at the title: _A Tale of Two Cities_. I thought I was the only one who had a taste for Literature, but apparently not.

_Yes! A common interest. At least I maybe have something I can talk to him about._

I think about asking him what he's reading, but I can't quite bring myself to interrupt him. Besides, it occurs to me that doing that might not be a smart idea.

So, I get out my own read, _Wicked, _and open it to where I've marked my place with a Harry Potter bookmark. (I know, I'm a dork.)

Whenever most people see the kind of books I read, and the amount, they can't believe it when they find out that I have dyslexia. I've had it all my life, but I only really became aware of it in first grade, when my teacher wondered why I had a hard time reading simple words like _cat, ball, _and _goat_….the doctors estimated I would always read at least a grade level or two behind other kids, but I actually grew into a ravenous bookworm despite my disability.

Part of it was my decision to try and read the hardest books I could find to try and improve my reading skills. A lot of dyslexic people are afraid to try reading difficult books because it's a challenge, but reading is a lot like exercise. The more you do it, and do it in heavy doses, the easier it becomes over time, and the better you get at it.

Plus, I figure no genetic mutation of the brain's visual-processing area is going to stop me from reading the books I want, and I enjoy a challenge. So what if I have a learning disability? Can't dyslexic people read like everyone else if they want to? Does the fact that my brain wiring is a little screwed up mean I'm not allowed to plow through Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings?

The bell rings, and I close the book and gather my things. Warren also stands up and starts for the door when I finally make a last, desperate effort. I don't want to walk away from this class feeling like I didn't try very hard.

In a tiny voice, I almost whisper, "Have a good day."

To my surprise, Warren stops and turns, pinning me with that burning, probing stare. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," I respond, already flustered. "I mean-um-I...I just said t-to have a good day."

Warren stares at me in a deadly silence. When he opens his mouth, I expect him to tell me to bug off.

Instead, he raises his eyebrows and says, his voice husky and deep, "You too, Icicle."

He walks away, and I stare at him like an idiot, my mouth literally hanging open. I can't believe he actually spoke to me of his own accord…and he virtually told me to have a good day. This is turning out better than I thought! He's actually...not that bad of a conversationalist.

Then I remember what he called me, and mild outrage replaces my wonder.

"What did you just call me?"

Warren turns. "Icicle. What about it?"

"My name is Gwyneth," I retort, "Gwyneth Patrick, NOT Icicle. Or Ice Cube."

A trace of a sarcastic grin starts to form on Warren's face, but it's gone in an instant, so I can't tell if I really saw it. I must have imagined it, because there's no way he actually smiled.

"I can always come up with other nicknames, you know."

"Like what?"

He thought for a moment. "Ice girl, freezer-,"

"_Freezer__?!"_ I put my hands on my hips, entirely forgetting to be intimidated by him, and fix him with my best angry stare. "Oh, no. You are NOT calling me that. Freezer makes me sound like a kitchen appliance!"

"Freeze girl," Warren offers in a surprisingly civil tone.

I shrug reluctantly. "I guess…I can live with that."

Once again, that upturned corner of the mouth. "That's good, cause you'll probably be hearing it a lot." Then, he abruptly turned. "I gotta go. See you, Freeze Girl."

"Okay…see you." I stand there until Warren leaves, and I finally remember I need to go to class, too.

Two hours later, I stroll towards the cafeteria, humming one of my favorite songs, Cell Block Tango. The song's swaying Latin beat is almost _too_ catchy, and I can't get too into the music, or I'll start jerking my hips and solo-tangoing with an invisible partner down the hall.

I spot the food line and get in the back, looking around for Kat and Becky, or Emily, but they're not in sight.

I get pizza and a chocolate chip cookie, then head into the cafeteria. It seems busy as ever.

People are already organizing themselves into groups-jocks, nerds, and a table of teens who seemed to be the "cool" kids, but none of them have my friends. One or two tables were still empty.

I start to head towards one of these, but then I stop short. Warren Peace is sitting by himself at the same table with a book as thick as a large sandwich in front of him.

I stand for a moment, watching all the kids who pass Warren's table. Everyone who has to go within five feet throws a quick, nervous glance at him, then quickly walks away. Dozens of students went around or near him, but no one seemed to even want to try sitting at his table.

My hands clench around the tray. I want to go sit with him, show him someone isn't too afraid to even talk to him. I know what it's like to be shunned. Rejection has been a third best friend throughout middle school.

Showing someone I care, or pretending I didn't see? Should be an easy decision, right? But I remember Warren's power placement, and I hesitate. I don't want to bug him. What if he thinks I'm weird or nosy, and gets mad at me?

Oh yeah…avoiding making Warren mad. Really, really, really wise decision. What if…

_Stop. _I breathe through my nose. I just talked to him, and he was actually pretty nice to me. _It's not like he's going to kill you._

I imagine being in Warren's place, spending lunch alone, and I make up my mind. I walk to his table, winding my way through the cafeteria maze, until I come to the nearly-empty table. Just before I set down my tray, I take a deep breath for confidence, then I take my seat right across from Warren.

**Warren**

Just as I finally felt sure that I would have a lunch in peace. I should have known better.

The moment I finally got into the book I'd brought, I noticed someone moving into the seat across from me. Hoping it was my imagination, I decided to ignore it. Yesterday's threat should prevent this.

Then, a high-pitched girl voice says, "Um…hello."

Damn it. I unwillingly raise my eyes and find myself face to face with my…lab partner. I think her name was Gwyneth. I thought I'd seen the last of her for the day, but now she's sitting obliviously right across from me, smiling at me rather nervously, yet she doesn't look as scared as she did when she walked back to join me in science. She's studying me; interest and genuine curiosity on her face.

Then…wonder of wonders, she gives me a smile. Not just a fake, patronizing smile, but a real, genuine smile. She's kind of awkward and nerdy looking, with her glasses and straight blonde hair and bangs, and I notice a single thin tiny strip of hair that looks...white. But she's looking at me with more genuine interest and friendliness than anyone else has at the school.

It's like she actually sees _me—not _the son of Baron Battle, not an emo freak, not the loner kid, but Warren, _me_: which is exactly what I've tried to hide from everyone except my mother and Anna.

"Hi," she says. "I was just…um, wondering if it would be okay if…me and my friends sat here."

I try not to growl at her to leave. I want her _gone, _I tell myself. Doesn't she know better than to sit with me? I'm the son of Baron freaking Battle. What is she thinking? Is she suicidal?

And her _friends?_ Does she think I want to sit in the middle of a bunch of giggling, gossipy freshman girls? It's not that I have anything against freshman, being one myself, but I'm not in the mood to get interrupted every ten seconds by someone asking me questions to pretend to get to know me—reality, ammunition, an attempt to figure out my weaknesses. I've had that happen to me a few too many times.

Not to mention the fact that I want to read…No. This isn't happening. I'm not letting one friendly face open up my armor so that anyone who has an axe to grind can tear me open.

So, I give the girl my best glower. Usually it seems to do the trick—the kid I'm trying to fry with my eyes alone mumbles a hasty apology for bumping into me and almost runs away, doing his best not to wet his pants.

Gwyneth glances down at her hands and starts shifting awkwardly. I smile inside. _Good. It's working._

Leaning forward, I pronounce every word with a bite. "No, you just decided to sit here whether I wanted to or not. Well, I don't, and it isn't okay. This table is mine."

Gwyneth looks up. The warmth in her innocent blue eyes has frozen beneath my words. For the moment, she seems not even offended…just taken aback.

It almost makes me feel bad, but I quash the feeling, order it back, bury it deeper. I'm good at that.

"What?"

I roll my eyes just a little. "I said, this table is mine. Now are you going to leave or am I going to have to fry your eyebrows off?"

Gwyneth's mouth falls open, and for the first time, I see her eyes harden. It's the first time I've seen her resemble anything close to iciness.

"Gwyneth?" Another girl's voice calls out and I grit my teeth. Great. Here comes the squad of "friends".

A girl walks up to us, but unlike Gwyneth, she stays three feet away from the table, though she gives me a nervous smile. She looks just as young as the girl across from me, except prettier, but I don't particularly notice that. She's not really my type. Another girl, a short one with plain brown hair, comes to her side, giving me the same slightly wary look. I think she was the telekinetic Coach Boomer almost flattened.

"Gwyneth?" A third girl comes to stand next to her friends. She alone doesn't even look at me, and she stares at Gwyneth as if she's sitting behind a glass wall in a mental institution: worry and uncertainty and more than a little anxiety in her eyes. "What…what exactly are you doing?"

"Well, I _was _sitting here," Gwyneth turns and directs her next words along with her glare, right at me, "But apparently Mr. Sunshine here doesn't want anybody around even when they're trying to be nice to him."

Mr. Sunshine? Did she _seriously _just call me that? Her comment is bad enough, but coupled with the nickname, it sets me off.

"Excuse me?" I lean forward, growl right back at her. Who does she think she is? "Do you have a death wish or something?"

"Are you threatening me?" Gwyneth doesn't fold like most people would do. She's actually firing right back at me, her eyes blazing with her righteous, little-kid outrage and her fists clenched. She even raised her voice.

Angry as I am, I have to hand it to this girl. She has more guts than most kids at the school seem to. If I wasn't so pissed off at her, I'd be impressed.

"No," I say, "I'm giving you a hint about what'll happen if you don't move your ass to some other table. I don't need your pity, and I don't need you and your friends gossiping and interrogating me while I'm trying to read."

Gwyneth's jaw actually drops, and she stands up with some much force it would tip the chair over if the seats were chairs.

"Fine, then!" she snatches up her lunch tray, slings her backpack over one shoulder, and marches off. Her friends stand, gaping, their eyes switching between Gwyneth and me, before they hurry off after her.

I snort and try to get back to my book. Good riddance. I don't need her anyway. _She was just sitting at my table because she felt sorry for me. Before long, she would have found something she disliked and moved on, or she would have decided by tomorrow that she'd done her good deed for the week. It's probably a good thing I scared her off._

_Hold up, Peace. She wasn't scared off. More like pissed off._

_Good. _I focus on _A Tale of Two Cities, _but the plot that sucked me in a few minutes ago just can't hold my attention. For some reason, I keep thinking about the stupid geek who just stomped off because of me. The girl who actually had the nerve to tell me off right to my face.

Forget her. She's not worth it. Just go back to your book. That's what you wanted, wasn't it? Some time alone—to read? Like you always do?

Finally, I can't take it anymore and I look up. Gwyneth is sitting at another table with her friends. She's started to smile again. But then she happens to glance over her friends shoulder.

I dive down into my book before we make awkward eye contact, glad my hair hides covers the fact that my face just turned red. I really have to watch this staring business.

_Get a grip, Peace. Jesus. You're thinking too much._

I try to read for a few more minutes, but my curiosity gets the better of me. Against my judgement, I look up.

Gwyneth recovered pretty well, and the ice in her face and voice is gone. She's actually laughing, throwing back her head and letting it out in a way I never imagined a teenage girl could manage. For a girl who seems so damn shy, Gwyneth has a loud laugh. I actually find it refreshing. Anna was the only girl I ever met who had such a wonderful, unafraid laugh. Most girls either seem afraid to let it out, as if the sound of their own voice scares them, or else they have an annoying high-pitched giggle that develops into a cackle which makes my teeth clench and my fingers smoke. Gwyneth's is just open and out there, but not in the least annoying.

Then, my luck kicks in, and she throws an accidental glance around the lunchroom. Before I remember to look down, our eyes lock.

Gwyneth actually stares back at me for a moment before she remembers to glare. Her eyes are wide open, as if in surprise, making them look larger than they already are.

Then they harden and flame up and I almost flinch. I feel as if ice just touched me, then she firmly turns her head away.

I bury my nose back in my book, my face well and truly flaming. Damn, what was I thinking? I should know better than to stare at someone when I hate their guts and they hate mine.

Great. Now I've pissed off the person I have to work with for an entire semester. Shit. This year is going to suck even more than I thought.

_My fault. I shouldn't have—_

_What the _hell_? _

_Don't let them in, you idiot. They'll tear you apart. They don't care about you. No one here does. She would have turned on you, anyway. Face it, no one here is going to want anything to do with a guy they think is going to kill them or destroy the school one day._

I slam my book shut, stuffing it my backpack, which I throw over one shoulder, then I stalk out. I don't want to sit here anymore, with all these watching, judging eyes. I need to get away, if only to go outside for a bit. I can read out there without my own freaking brain interrupting me every five seconds.

_Good riddance._

From a few tables away, Gwyneth was thinking the exact same thing. _So I ticked off my lab partner. It wasn't my fault. He didn't have to be such a jerk._

_Good riddance._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 Journals and Gym Class

** told you things would pick up, right? Aha, here you see it. Note: the reference to the homeless man is NOT meant to apply to homeless people in general. I know homeless people who are awesome, so please don't be offended.**

Daily Journal 8/30/05

_I have the wrong power._

_My power should be my mom's: invisibility. Then I wouldn't have to stutter and look stupid in front of people: I could disappear, literally. _

_The shy me would love that ability. I hate drawing attention to myself and all that goes with it; staring eyes, judging minds…heck, just scrutiny by too many people makes me nervous and gives me stage fright._

_But no. I have to control ice._

_Of all things: _ice?

_If some of the people at my middle school knew I had superpowers, and what my power was, they would either go, "Huh?!" or "Well, that makes total sense. She's so stand-offish," though that isn't true at all. I only act awkward around people because I often feel afraid of too much exposure. I'm painfully shy. It isn't the fault of other people, it's just me._

_My power is the exact opposite of my personality. That shouldn't be the way things are, but it is. Honestly, what are some of the adjectives that pop into your head when you think of ice?_

_Cold? Hard?_

_Beautiful? Powerful?_

_Dangerous?_

_Anyone who knows me should step up right now and say whether they think any of these apply to me._

_I'm not cold or hard. I'm soft and quiet, and though I'm shy, I can be friendly. The person I'm coldest to is probably me, actually._

_Beautiful? Well, pffft. That's out. I have a nickname, or had one in middle school: Birdy. If you want to know the reason…well, look at me. I'm BUILT like a bird: ridiculously small, bony, everything built trimly. Even my face looks a little birdlike. My nose is long and kind of beaky, and my blue eyes are the biggest part of my face._

_I'm not ugly, but I sure as heck ain't beautiful. Next question._

_Powerful? Dangerous?_

_I rest my case._

Setting my pencil down, I close my journal decisively, forcing myself not to go back and edit.

Come to think of it…dangerous was possibly the only one that fit.

I scan the room. My Hero History class is one of the few where I don't have a lot of difficulty. My dyslexia manifests itself in math and especially English, but Mad Science and History don't require me to remember a lot of visual symbols. Plus, we get to write interesting journal entries.

_Interesting is one way of putting it._

_Don't be so pessimistic. You get to express the way you feel…like today's entry._

I have to admit, I like expressing how I feel. I just hope Mr. Black won't ask me about it…not like my first journal entry ever on the second day of school.

"_Sit down, Gwyneth. I thought it would be nice if we just had a little…chat."_

"_Okay…what about?"_

"_I found your journal entry from yesterday to be very interesting. I'll point out two places from it—one. 'I want to do my two years' probation and then go inactive because I don't believe my powers to be useful in combat.'_

_I shifted in my chair and bit my lip. 'What about it?'_

'_Well, for one thing…a hero who doesn't WANT to be a hero?' Mr. Black studies me with his mismatched eyes. His left eye is silver-grey, so pale it's almost white, and the other is dead black. "That's most unusual in a student. Also…cryokinesis not being useful in combat? I don't know if you recall, but your great-grandfather, Ice, was considered one of the most feared superheroes of his day. Even Hellfire, Baron Battle's father, was wary of battling him."_

"_I know that." I try not to let an edge creep into my voice and duck my head forward, purposely brushing hair into my eyes before my glasses._

"_Well, for someone who knows the history of cryokinetics in combat…one of the primary courses here covers how to deal with those sorts of powers. _Your _sort. So I just…I find it a little hard to believe that you would honestly believe your powers wouldn't be useful in combat."_

_I finally drop my eyes to the ground. I have nothing to say. I can't answer his question. What would he be willing to believe? Even if I thought I knew why I'd put that…just as an excuse, a better substitute for 'I'm not good enough to be a hero-,' my original reasoning. That was a lot truer, but I can't say that. I can't explain that to him any better than this._

_Mr. Black flips through my journal some more. "And this other part…I really prefer reading and music."_

"_Well, it's true." I don't mean to sound as petulant, almost childishly obstinate as I do, but I can't help the way it came out._

"_That may be," Mr. Black stoops down to peer into my lowered eyes, "but…I just found your whole essay…unusual. It's not often we get students with powerful abilities who believe they aren't useful in a fight and would prefer being citizens."_

"_Well, I do! I mean…there's…nothing wrong with being a citizen." I fumble, trying to keep talking, but the longer I talk, the less I feel I'm convincing him. "My dad's a citizen and he's the best person I know. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's fine to be a hero, but…I just don't think I'm cut out for it."_

"_Why not?"_

_I cannot reply for a second. When I do manage, it's cold and dull, like a different person talking. "I just…I'm not, okay?"_

"Class dismissed," Mr. Black's voice snaps me back to attention and I sigh. Not in a "Angsty-coming-out-of-deep-thought" sense but in a "Thank-God-another-class-done" sense.

I gather my things and head out the door, humming softly, not really thinking, my feet just heading towards my next class…

Then I remember what my next class is and my stomach drops.

PE.

Coach Boomer told us yesterday that we will start demonstrating our powers on each other. _In PE._

Crap. Crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap…

"Gwyneth!" Emily hurries up alongside me, grabbing me arm, and scaring the stew out of me. "You're jumpy." She grins and drapes a skinny arm around my shoulders. "Ready for PE?"

"Yeah," I lie, trying to sound eager and yet casual and form my expression into a look that doesn't resemble someone who just inhaled a gallon of lemon juice. The effort fails: the weak tone in my own voice makes even _me _wince.

Emily gives me an odd look, but doesn't push it right then, especially since the noise of the students surrounding us doesn't exactly allow for private conversation. I try to focus on the fact that I'm with Emily. Emily's the funnest friend I've ever had, if a little odd at times, and she somehow makes the most mundane things an adventure. I'd be more aware of this if I wasn't so nervous.

My stomach flips again, when we pass through the gym doors, starts to repeat like a dying fish when we line up in our typical alphabetical order, and when Coach Boomer calls, "Okay, listen up," my innards literally start to churn.

"I told you all what to expect today, but for those who were out to lunch, we'll be learning how you're supposed to use your powers in a fight. You can't always take care of everything from a distance. Sometimes you have to get up close and personal and you might not have a gadget to help you out."

I nod. He's right about that—I know that much too well.

_The alley smelled _wet—_wet and dank and not overly clean. TJ and I were running through it when a tall figure steps out in front of us, bringing our jogging run to a screeching halt. TJ slips on the wet concrete and almost eats it before the tight grip of my hand helps him regain his balance._

"_Now, what are two nice kids like you doing here when you're s'posed to be in school?"_

"_We're late," I say. Stupid excuse, but I just want to avoid the conversation. It's none of this man's business. Plus, he doesn't know where we go to school, so it's not like we can get in trouble…and in any case, nobody who's left at the school would blame us for running. Everyone wanted to escape._

"_Come on, TJ." We start to hurry again to move around him, but he steps in front of us. We try to run to the right, but he steps over, not letting us by._

"_Please let us by." TJ tries to keep his voice cool and polite but his hand grips mine a little too tightly—it's already slick with sweat, so that is no indication._

_The man doesn't seem to hear him. He's focused on me for some reason. His hair is long, his clothes unkempt, his eyes not entirely focused. Something feral in them makes me uncomfortable. His gaze is so…odd, and then the hint of a smile made a chill sweep through my body._

"_You're a nice little girl."_

"_Th-thanks." My mouth is suddenly dry. I don't know why but some sixth sense is screaming to put as much distance as possible between me and this hobo, whoever he is. TJ tugs at my hand and he suddenly darts. I allow myself to be pulled as we start to run around the man…_

"…with the obvious, let's go with Miss Ice Hands and the flamethrower."

"What?" I start, my ears getting hot under the gazes as heads turn and people smirk. I completely tuned out and I missed too much.

"Yeah, you. You got something better to do?" Coach Boomer's critical gaze and sarcastic tone melt the memory instantly, and I suddenly feel more exposed than ever.

"Me? What am I…do you want…,"

"Shut your mouth and get your butt up here."

I obey and come out front, wishing the entire crowd didn't have to watch.

"This is the easiest example of how powers can help you in a fight. You two will demonstrate what you would do if you were in a fight."

Two? Then Warren Peace steps up to the front, coming a stop next to me, and looking anything but happy, and the situation becomes terribly clear.

"What?" I gape at Coach Boomer. Please, God, tell me I'm wrong. "We're…are we actually supposed to use our powers on each other?"

"No, on me. Of course you're using your powers on each other."

"I…," I stutter, trying not to look at Warren. I shoot a frantic look at Kat and Becky—_Help! I can't do this. DO SOMETHING, 911!_

Strangely, neither of my friends seem more than a little nervous and resigned. Becky shrugs, then mouths something I can't read from a distance, gesturing towards the tall boy at my side—who I can literally feel by the increase in the intense warmth perpetually radiating off of him. It's a side effect of being cryokinetic—my body temperature is naturally lower than a normal person, so I've recently noticed that other people and things seem…warmer. I also haven't been comfortable being warm like I used to.

"What's the problem, Skinnybones?" Coach Boomer's gaze holds no sympathy, only impatience. I don't look at Warren.

"Umm…isn't that unsafe?" My stomach churns worse than ever, and I feel incredibly exposed and very aware of just how stupid I look. This is why I hate anything with an audience. I'm never this self-conscious when I'm conversing normally with few people.

"It's safer than demonstrating it on anyone else." Coach Boomer gestures to us. "He's fire, you're ice. You two are perfect. You can neutralize each other."

"But…but…," Damn it…oh crap. I have to get out of this, I have to think of some excuse…I'm not feeling well, I have a headache, I sprained my wrist…no, that's dumb.

"Well, come on." Coach Boomer points at me. "Both of you, turn and face your partner."

Sputtering soundlessly and trying frantically to come up with some seemingly plausible excuse for not using my powers which isn't the real reason, I turn towards Warren. He's standing, waiting, the simmering anger in his dark eyes making me even tenser. He's obviously angry with my stuttering unwillingness to face him.

"Now, use your powers on each other as if you're in a fight." Coach Boomer's voice rises in pitch from extreme impatience. "You shoot ice smoke or whatever that was at Fireboy and he'll power up. Can you manipulate fire—throw it or whatever?"

"I can throw fire." Warren's deep voice, while not loud, stands out in the quiet gym. His voice must have changed early.

"All right. So either you ice him and he powers up or he throws fire at you and you can hit it with your spray and extinguish it. Come on, I haven't got all day."

Warren stares at me for a moment, his face inscrutable. Then he lets out a soft growl between his teeth and then fire ignites in his hand, condensing itself into a ball of golden flame.

"No…wait-please, I can't-," Warren raises his arm behind his head. Fear floods my body, and with it I feel the cold prickling in my fingers, an icy rush through my veins. It reminds me of the cold rush when the man pushed me up against the wall, fumbling for my clothes with dirty hands, and when he stood back, staring in surprise at the mysterious, unintended attack but then starting to rush me again.

The memory and the nerves I already have suddenly well up and I try to fight it down. But then Warren flings his fiery baseball at me and it leaves his hand, rushing towards me with a wicked wave of heat and a deadly crackle.

My vision blurs, obscured by a white haze even as a corresponding cold mist starts to flow from my hands and I throw them up in a self-protecting gesture, screaming, "NO!" as I lose control for one fatal instant, my power breaking forth…

I closed my eyes, but then I hear a whistle and then several people clapping. Coach Boomer's voice calls, "That's what I'm talkin' about! Now get back in line."

Slowly, I open my eyes. I can hardly breathe, hoping I won't see what I'm afraid I'll see, hoping I just hit the fireball...

Yes! Warren is already stalking off back to his place in line, looking pissed, glad to be done, and utterly untouched. I just put out his fire and didn't harm him at all.

Despite the fact that I don't like him, I'm glad he wasn't frozen. I don't think I could deal with having someone else's life on my hands.

I try to relax and realize how tense every muscle just became. Even my lungs stopped for a moment and I exhale in a shuddering rush. The blood starts flowing in my legs, making me wobble and wince when Coach Boomer yells at me again to get back in line.

Warren avoids my eyes when I squeeze in between him and a guy whose name I don't remember (due to our last names, Patrick and Peace, I'm right in front of him. _Of course.)_

"You freaking _idiot,_" I whisper just loud enough for him to hear me. "I could've ki—I could've seriously hurt you."

"Yeah. Sure."

"I could have _frozen _you, you moron! Why did you have to just throw fire at me like some dumb _hothead_? I could've hit you-,"

"Save it." Warren's quiet, bitter hiss cuts me off as effectively as a gag slapped over my mouth. "Don't flatter me. You were just scared of the big, bad pyro. I wouldn't have gotten hurt any more than you could have. It's not like you could freeze me."

"Well, maybe not if your arms were on fire, but you let go of that fireball-,"

"My _surface _body temperature is 120 degrees, and that's not even half of my core temperature. There's no way."

"What?" I'm caught between being mildly impressed by this fact, involuntarily doing the mental math to figure out what that means about his core temperature, consequently being more impressed and going into _wow that is so cool _mode, and trying only to think of lunch the second day of school. I don't like Warren. He's a jerk-"That's pretty cool."

"So to speak." The quiet smile in the voice behind me and the implied pun almost makes me laugh.

"I'm like that," I whisper back. "In an opposite way, of course. My mom estimated that my body temperature is about eighty something degrees. Anyone who didn't know me would think I have hypothermia." I pause. "That's just my surface body temperature, of course. Not like we could stick a thermometer into my body and measure how cold it is on the inside."

Warren lets off a soft sound like a subdued snort. "You're weird." His tone is sharp, but somehow the way he says it is more like sarcasm than open hostility.

Then he apparently remembers that he's not supposed to talk to me and shuts up. I focus on the demonstrations happening out front with other kids whose powers aren't an obvious opposites-neutralizers fire-and-ice match. (No, I did not intend that very apt choice of words as a pun, though it works.) Coach Boomer doesn't call on me again, but I breathe a sigh of relief when we're allowed to leave.

We have lunch next, and Emily latches on to me. "Dude, that was so _awesome._ You just melted his fireball right out of the air. You should have seen the _look _on that guy's face when you did it. And Coach Boomer looked pretty surprised. Bet you gave him a little shock." She smirked. "Probably thought you weren't powerful enough."

"Well, I didn't." My abrupt reply puts Emily off for a second, though I didn't mean it like that. I just hope she'll leave the whole subject of gym class alone. I'm still feeling shaken up from that.

"Why were you so nervous?" Emily persists. "Was it because you were scared of him? I don't blame you."

"It's nothing," Becky speaks up and I silently thank her. "Gwyneth's…she's really shy, and she hates being up in front of an audience, any audience. So she automatically gets nervous and starts…freezing up. No pun intended."

I give her a look of sheer gratitude. Becky is the best best friend ever. She and Kat both know, or can guess, why I was really nervous, but they know I won't want to talk about it. They're right.

"Yeah." I give Emily my best smile. "Let's go eat, huh? I'm starving."

The day passes much like a normal school day. It's odd, but going to school with kids who can teleport or control the elements, and teachers with other abilities seems…almost normal. Of course it helps that my mother is Shadow, and even though she's retired she does use her powers for simple things like REALLY fun Halloween pranks and getting her still-small children out of locked bathrooms. And that my best friend has been able to fly since sixth grade, and my other friend can make everything float in her room (which she doesn't unless she's in a mood to show off). This place should feel weird, and it has new surprises every day, but it's starting to feel just like…normal school. Except here, we can talk about superheroes and mention that, yeah, we have powers.

The next day seems to go by without anything awful or exciting happening, and when I head to PE class, I can almost hope that I won't have to demonstrate my powers. Not that day.

"Everyone will be paired off with someone. You will train with this person and try to fight and defeat them using your powers."

**And…a cliffhanger! I wanted to write more in this chapter but I then thought it might be more fun to add a cliff…hahaha. Yes, I'm still alive! And you'll have to wait to find out what haaaapens…although not as long, hopefully. Finals are in two weeks so I'm stressing and trying to catch up…but I should have more free time.**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**A/N: This chapter is a bit short…but at last, you'll finally meet Speed and Lash…and find out what their real names were. I took a guess, so sue me. Actually, don't, since I have no money.**

**On a side note…I very stupidly forgot to insert something. In the movie, Warren has those red streaks in his hair, and I decided (not the first, I know) that those came from his power, almost like Anna's hair in Frozen ;) So I decided that it would be logical and interesting for Gwyneth to start gaining white streaks in her hair as HER power grows. Right now she only has a single tiny one…but so I inserted that, because I completely forgot about it. I updated the first and third chapters to include mentions of the white streak, so if the reference in chapter five here throws you off, it's all my bad. Sorry.**

Oh God. Ohcrapohcrapohcrapohcrap…smelly, stinking crap…a cold wave of panic threatens to overwhelm me. The trapped sensation wells up and I scan the room, wondering if I could get away with slipping out. Of course I couldn't.

_Please, God, let me be paired with Warren. Even if he is a jerk, he's the one person I can't freeze. I'll use my powers on him, I'll do anything, just don't put me with anyone else!_

"I've put your names in my hat." Now I know why Coach Boomer had his baseball cap in his hands to reveal his graying brown buzz cut. "I'll draw two names out of it, and you two will partner with each other. Then I'll take another two, and it'll go from there."

_Please, put me and Warren together. Please put me and Warren together. Please-_

"Jonathon Walter." Coach Boomer draws another name out of the hat. "Monique Temple."

A blond girl and a tall, awkward looking boy step out of the crowd and stare at each other, smiling awkwardly.

"Okay, okay." Coach Boomer points at them and pulls out a yellow stopwatch. "You have ten minutes for one of you to defeat the other and hold them down, pinned, for thirty seconds. You automatically win if they are knocked unconscious. Nurse Spex is more than capable at her job, but try not to cause any serious damage.

"READY, SET, GO!"

The girl snarled and red lasers shot out of her eyes. In response, Jonathon ducked, rolling onto the floor, and when he slithered towards Monique, his tongue shot out, growing longer and forking off.

Monique fell to the ground with a cry, clutching her ankle. Jonathan hissed loudly as his arms seemed to glue to his sides. His body became long, sinuous, writhing on the floor and his clothes forming into something like plates…

"Enough!" Coach Boomer held up his hand and the kid returned to normal just as Monique's eyes started to glow, feebly. Her face had visibly paled and she was clutching her leg. "Go to the nurse's office right away. You, go back in line. Well done."

The girl limped away, but halfway to the door, she stumbled. Another girl, her friend presumably, rushed over and helped her to her feet. The two made their way out, Monique Temple leaning heavily on her friend.

Coach Boomer draws a name out of his hat and reads, "Laurence Nash."

A dark-haired boy who is every bit as short and skinny and gangly as me steps out of the crowd. Despite his size and the embarrassing name, the smirk on his face and the attitude he carries betray his supreme self-confidence.

"I prefer Lash, actually." He smirks at the crowd and wiggles his eyebrows, and I have to smile. He's actually…to be honest, he's cute, with the dark messy hair and the confident smile.

"Whatever." Coach Boomer reaches into the cap again and reads from the next slip of paper, "Christopher Collins."

Another boy steps out of the crowd, but he couldn't be more different than the first. He's definitely overweight and his hair is short and trim, although he does share the exact same cocky attitude as Lash.

The two boys face off, and then Coach Boomer shouts, "READY, SET, GO!"

Lash stretched out his hands but Chris Collins zipped out of his grasp. He then began to zoom around the slender boy, grabbing his stretchable limbs, trying to tie them in knots. Every now and then Lash would trip him up, but he'd recover equally quickly and then begin again. Soon Lash was in a knot of tangled limbs and Chris Collins was sitting on him, grinning, holding him down.

"Done! Speedy, you just defeated Lash." Coach Boomer blew the whistle and Chris Collins got off the smaller boy, grinning. "Yeah, beat that!"

"Dude, you totally cheated!" Lash was grinning despite having just been trounced. He wriggled on the floor, trying to untie himself. "Help me out!"

"Nah. I should just leave you." Chris nonetheless began working too quickly too see, untying Lash's elastic limbs.

"Yeah, right." Lash staggered to his feet, grinning cockily, and he didn't seem to mind being defeated as he and the other boy got back in line.

"Emily Braun!"

I watched in surprise and happiness as Emily stepped out of the line and walked out in front of everyone, smirking in a way that made me very nervous for her as yet unknown opponent.

"And…," Coach Boomer drew out another slip and read, "Warren Peace."

_Crap. _I tried to remember that these partners were only temporary. Surely class should be almost out by now, and the chances that I'd be drawn were small.

Emily's face went white and she stared at Warren as he left the line with an expression that could only be described as horror.

"Um…," she gave a small, sickly smile.

"What's wrong with _you?_" Coach Boomer's eyes narrowed. "You saw the ice girl face off with him, and she didn't die."

"Yeah, but she's…she has…," Emily bit her lip, stifling further protests, but I could still see her face. She had never seemed so small, so unsure of herself, and so very close to being physically sick.

"Relax. Man up. You've got electricity, right?"

"Yeah…,"

"So use it on the human torch here."

What's wrong with her? I wondered. She's…terrified that she'll get burned? That makes sense. Despite the fact that Emily had powers and could probably shock him senseless, this was really unsafe. I at least had some form of immunity to fire, but Emily didn't. If this went wrong, she could wind up in the hospital…I bit my lip and closed my eyes, trying to calm down. Emily was clever, and she seemed like she was used to taking care of herself. She could shock Warren before he touched her with his fire. She could do this.

Warren stood across from Emily, sizing her up, just like he had me. He looked, if possible, more genuinely angry than he usually did. It occurred to me that always being the most feared student in the class might not be fun, but I forgot that looking at Emily's white face.

"READY, SET, GO!"

Warren ignited one of his hands and raised it behind his head. His brow furrowed and his lips pulled back in an expression of ferocious concentration.

Emily's eyes grew wider than ever. Her mouth fell a little open and she backed up a step. She seemed almost paralyzed with fear.

"Do something," I whispered frantically. If she stayed frozen like this, Warren _would _hit her.

A white-hot ball of fire flew at her, and Emily leaps almost four feet to the side and…did she just _scream?_

"Fight him, damn it!" Coach Boomer probably thought he was muttering under his breath but I can just hear him from where I stand.

"Come on, Emily," I mutter. "You can shock him or build something really quick and beat him. Fight _back!_"

_You're one to talk._

_Shut up. Emily didn't get her powers by-_

_Shut it. Don't…think…about that. It hurts too much. It won't bother you unless you think about it._

Emily stands upright, obviously attempting to put up a bold front, but everyone can see the blood draining from her face, the sheer fear in her eyes, and the shake in her legs and hands. What's wrong with her? She doesn't have fire immunity, but she has powers, and they could help her out big-time. It isn't like her to be so indecisive, so helpless with terror.

I saw her spin around and slap an older kid when he snarked something about her being a guy-girl just a few days ago. And when he jumped to his feet ready to fight she took him out within minutes. If she doesn't stand for little things like that, why would she freeze up now?

"Fight back, damn it!" Warren throws another fireball on the last words and Emily jumps again. But she didn't need to…Warren's fireball struck a foot or two away from where she'd been standing. Knowing him, he probably just missed—but part of me wishes he was aiming wrong on purpose. Then I wouldn't be so afraid for my friend.

"_Fight back_!" Warren throws again and Emily flat-out runs. Warren follows, flinging gouts of flames after her and each one making it harder for me to stay in line. Emily does try, twice, to send out a bolt of electricity after Warren, but he dodges easily. Emily actually ducks behind the bleachers and Warren stops.

"Thirty seconds!" Coach Boomer yells. Everyone is staring, yelling, craning their necks for a better view. To them this is _exciting, entertaining. _But this is my friend.

Warren starts as if to go in after Emily, but then he growls something under his breath and lights up his hand—correction, he concentrates the fire in his hand. He's been practically powered up this whole time, as if he can't stop. He raises it behind his head, then throws it at the bleachers themselves.

The crash, and rumble of collapsing metal almost makes me blind with fear. Emily could have been crushed in all that…

Something else seems to take over my body. I can't stand here. Shyness and dignity only go so far, so I break out of line at the same time as Kat and Becky. We all reach the smoking crater and peer in.

"Emily!" Kat shouts into the dark hole, her high voice almost cracking with fear. "Emily! Are you okay?"

"No, goddamn it!" The shaky voice almost makes me almost go limp with relief. A scarecrow figure stands up, covered with grey dust and her hair sticking up all over her head. She looks one part furious, two parts scared out of her wits, and her face is tight as if in concentration. But then I see the way she's clutching onto her arm, trying not to move it, and I realize what the real source of her tension is.

"Are you okay?" Kat hovers over the rubble and drifts into the crater, her voice almost frantic. She talks more and faster whenever she gets upset and now I can barely understand her. "Oh my God, are you okay? Is your arm…we need to get you to the nurse like NOW! Oh my God-just hold still. Don't move! We'll get-,"

"Jesus, take a breath." Emily slowly emerges from the hole. I hear several students whistle and clap behind us, and cant' help but wonder where they were when she was getting attacked.

_And where were you?_

I shake off the voice and wish that I could shut my own brain up.

"It's not over yet!" Coach Boomer's voice makes me grit my teeth in fury. He _started_ all this. He picked Emily and Warren and he didn't try to stop Warren from collapsing the bleachers. For a split second, all my suppressed anger focuses on him and I can feel my hands suddenly drop in temperature. _Hold it back…don't screw up again. Control it._

"The time is not up yet!" Coach Boomer hollers. "Noncombatants, out of the fight! You have fifteen more seconds!"

Warren turns and looks almost doubtfully at Coach Boomer. The flames dancing along his arms and hands actually waver for a moment.

"Um, Coach? Are you-,"

"Did I ask for your commentary?" Coach pointed at him. "The fight isn't done yet. Now keep going! Noncombatants, get your behinds _out of the way_!"

Warren hesitates, but then his mouth snarls and the flames blaze higher. He turns towards us, his firelit face tense with fury barely held in check.

He slowly raises a fireball, aims towards Emily. Kat takes off into the air, but Becky stands her ground.

"Don't do it. I'll give you ten seconds-,"

"Out of the _FIGHT!_" Coach Boomer bellows, the blast knocking me, Becky, and Emily off our feet, and extinguishing Warren's flames for a moment.

"Ten seconds left!"

_Ten seconds. Anything could happen in ten seconds._

Emily struggles to her feet, face tight with pain, clutching her arm against her. Warren's hands ignite and he raises them over his head, ready to consolidate them in a gigantic fireball.

"No." It's barely a whisper, but then an icy rush of energy compels me to my feet. Emily crouches, her body visibly shaking with terror. She ought to run, but her feet are glued to the floor—it's as if she _can't._

"No…please…" Her voice sounds scared, shaking, high-pitched, more like a frightened five-year-old than the girl I've come to know. It's how my voice probably sounded…

_The pavement was wet, but we didn't slip. We'd just dashed around the man when a hard shove separated our clasped hands._

"_You're such a nice little girl…,"_

"_Let go." My voice is small, thin, choked with a terror I can't pin down. The man is far too close to my face, his breath fetid_

"_Let go of her!"_

"_Nice…," I see a gold cap in his teeth. My back hit something cold and hard and very solid. I try to run, to move, to get away, but the man's weight pins me. I am trapped, _just like Emily—_I can't move, can't escape, have to escape…_

"Run!" Becky struggles to her feet.

_The man's hands were far too large, too capable…fingers fumbled with the button of my jeans, the zipper. TJ's yell comes like a distant roar of a train, "Don't move, Gwyneth!"_

The surge of cold energy rushes through my blood, like a cold drink sliding down into my stomach, only it begins from the center of my body and spreads out, through my arms, into my hands, making them cold and tingle…the cold which made the man jump back and away, staring at me in bewilderment, at the hands which suddenly pushed more than force against his chest, shocking him with the bite of ice which crawled just beneath the surface of my skin…

The sudden shocked cries of the other students, someone's scream—perhaps Kat's, it sounds like it's in the air and coming closer as it trails off—and Coach Boomer's bellow seem to come from a long way away. I barely see the fire crackling towards me…and Emily's shriek, "NO!"…beside, then behind me…as I fling out my hands, releasing the icy energy with a blinding white spray—

The blood pounds into my legs and ears as I gasp in huge breaths, the world suddenly coming back into focus. Everything comes through painfully clear—Emily's gasp behind me, "What the…freaking _hell_…!" and the babel of other voices, and loudest of all, the one which centers me, "TIME'S UP! Patrick, get over here. _Now!_"

I open my eyes. Everyone in the line is gaping and talking all at once. Warren is smoking in a way which indicates he just powered down. He meets my eyes for a split second, then turns and walks back towards the line. Coach Boomer stands in front of the whole group, and he does NOT look happy.

I walk towards him, trying to take deep breaths. I can still feel the chill flowing through my body, under my skin, and all my senses have snapped into hyperawareness. I see the flushed, angry face and a white mist begins to obscure my vision. I shut my eyes for a moment and take deep breaths as I walk towards him.

_Chill out, Gwyneth. Calm down. No matter how _pissed off _you are, no matter how much of a jerk Coch Boomer is, you will NOT lose your temper. Do not think about what would have happened if you hadn't stepped in. Just count to ten, Gwyneth. One. Two. Three. Four. Five…_

Coach Boomer steps towards me, covering the few feet of distance and standing right in front of me, staring me down, his eyes blazing. I can literally feel his warmth radiating from his tall body, though not as extreme as Warren's.

"What the hell was that, Patrick? I told you to get out of the way! Are you deaf?"

I dig my nails into the palm of my hands. I try to look him in the eye and bite my lips. If I say anything, I'm afraid I'llexplode. So I try to keep silent.

"Speak up!" Coach Boomer bends down, getting right in my face, and if I wasn't on the point of going into a screaming tirade about what he just did, I'd back away. I don't like people I don't trust very well getting too close, but that thought is in the back of my mind.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" He stares at me like he wants to take me on in the next match. "Well? I told you to get out of the way and not interfere with the practice fight and you deliberately disobeyed me!"

I bite my lip even harder and breathe deeply through my nose. For the first time, I actually meet his eyes. I feel a little nervous of him, but my anger gives me fuel and courage to stand and look him right back in the eye, refusing to look away.

"Well? Got anything to say for yourself?"

Coach Boomer's loud, nagging repetition of the same phrase finally pushes the envelope. Against all that the small, sensible part of my mind is screaming to me, I open my mouth.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Well, spit it out."

Inhale. _Gotta keep it short, be careful…just don't say anything…just say I was protecting my friend or something like that…_

My brain fumbles for something to say that won't land me in hotter water, but unfortunately, my mouth is quicker on the draw. And it is leading its own life.

"I think that you are—you could have gotten a student—no, _my friend, _seriously hurt or KILLED!" My voice rises drastically with the last sentence without my even realizing it.

I clap my hand over my mouth after the last word bursts into a silence so intense I actually hear my heart pounding for the first time. My hands are shaking and my whole body is tense as a drum. I didn't even realize how worked up I was until after everything happened, much too fast.

Coach Boomer's eyes widen even more than mine. Then they narrow and laser in on me. "Are you questioning my judgement? You think a real villain would go soft on any one of you just cause you just graduated from high school?"

"Don't worry about it, Gwyneth." Emily's words come through gritted teeth. I turn and see her walking towards the gym door, holding her arm, still white as a sheet, and not meeting anyone's eyes. She moves as quickly as she can past the crowd. "I'm fine. I don't need your help. I just…I'm going to the nurse," she mumbles the last bit and hurries towards the door.

"Oh, your arm was just broken, maybe, and you don't need my help?!" My voice goes shrill more from worry and shock than anger.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait. Where do you think you're going?" Coach Boomer holds up a hand.

"I'm going to the nurse." Emily stops and directs every pain-tightened word straight at him. "I think I broke my arm. Debris…or something must've fallen on me when the bleachers…got collapsed."

"Your arm?" Coach Boomer seems to see that she's in pain for the first time. "…Oh. Well, go to the nurse's office. She'll fix you up."

"May I go with her?" Kat, back on earth, looking almost as pale as Emily, steps up closer. Her eyes leave Emily for a moment and she gives me a really intense look, then jerks her head towards the door in really subtle sign language. She probably wants me to get out of here with them before I do any more damage.

"What's the matter with you?" Coach Boomer points back to the group. "You're all right. Class isn't over."

"But…I want to go with Emily." Kat's voice sounds small, but she holds Coach Boomer's stare surprisingly well, even though normally he kind of scares her.

"Me, too." Becky's soft voice comes out even louder. Despite about two feet in height difference, she looks up at Coach Boomer with the same level, hard look she would give to a misbehaving kid she was babysitting. Becky is the sweetest person ever, but kids have learned the hard way that she only takes so much. (Not that she uses telekinesis to knock them around or crap like that—she's not that mean, plus knows how dangerous that is. But she has this intense Look she can give…)

"Well, you can go visit her after class. Be late, I don't care." Coach Boomer jerks his head back. "But when you're in my class, you obey my rules. My word is law here." He ostensibly says it to Kat and Becky, but he directs the last part to me.

"_I don't care," _I mutter, storming back towards the group.

"What was that?"

I whip around to face Coach Boomer's glare. "Don't tell me it was nothing. I heard you say something. If you've got anything to say to me, speak up and say it."

It's too much. If I had any brains left in my head, I wouldn't just hear a voice screaming to me to not be an idiot or push my luck.

But I don't. My adrenaline took the place of my brain earlier, and my limbs obeyed it. And now my anger takes the place of anything logical that I have left, and I hear myself say, the slight shake belying the thoughts boiling in my head, "I've got something to say. You're act like it's no big deal that you nearly made Warren _kill _my friend and I hate that."

"Is that all?" Coach Boomer stares at me, his eyes hard.

I see Kat and Becky signaling frantically to shut _up, _and I know they're right. But it doesn't make any difference when I say, "I just don't think it's a good idea for a gym teacher to let his kids get _hurt _when they're in his class."

Coach Boomer's eyes widen and he nods in sarcastic thoughtfulness. "Is that right?" He points at me.

"Well, I don't think it's a good idea to hear your smart mouth in this class." The sarcastic smile disappears from his face. "Go to Principal Powers' office. NOW!"

**A/N: Oooh…Gwyneth's gotta go to the Principal's office…anyway. **

**The next chapter is actually the events of this chapter from Warren's POV, and there's a little flashback of his take on the events of Chapter 4 before I move on to Gwyneth's life and what happens next in Chapter 6. I thought it was important to show his take on the whole situation to realize why he says and does what he does. Still not always understandable, of course, but what fun would that be?...I'm toying with the idea of throwing in more of his POV…though I kind of want to just stick with Gwyneth to keep it more mysterious and interesting…I don't know. If anyone would be interested in more of Warren's perspective, or whether you think that would be a mistake, let me know in your comments! I'm not telepathic, alas.**

**Final exams are done so I'm FREE! Which means more frequent updates! Yay!**


	6. The Other Side of the Story

Chapter 6

A/N: Finally! I just got distracted because my Inner Flow Monster demanded I write the seventh chapter, what happens to Gwyneth, before I did this. And now…well, here's the result. And because I adore the song and it seemed perfect for that part, I inserted a couple tidbits of the lyrics from Society Song by Sarah Slean, a true sass masterpiece. I implore you to look it up.

**Warren**

I'm used to tuning things out. When I walked the halls on the first day of school, that was the only day I really saw the furtive glances, the whispers, the way other students scurried to clear a path for me. They probably still do it, but I don't really see. I choose not to. It's easy enough to just walk down a perfectly straight corridor with my body there and moving and my mind far away, someplace where there are no judging glances. The sight of me is distinctive enough, and usually sufficient to cause people to concentrate on just staying the hell out of my way. No one really knows that most of the time, I can't even see them.

Usually I just deliberately plunge my brain back into the book I read last and allow my thoughts to just…drift. Sometimes I'm not even really thinking or dreaming, but at least I'm free. And it's not as if I'm in any danger of bumping into anyone.

Admittedly, it isn't as easy to tune Coach Boomer out as it is to tune out the background murmur of a school hallway, but I'm beginning to slip off when I hear hazily, "Miss Ice Hands and the flamethrower."

_If that becomes my nickname, I'm going to lose it, _I think absently as I come back into focus.

"What?" I hear the light high voice in front of me, sounding startled. I suddenly recall what I half heard and scowl in frustration. If I got paired with my _lab partner-_

"Yeah, you. You got something better to do?" Coach Boomer's sneer isn't directed at me, which is good. A very good thing. Wouldn't want to have my hands start smoking, would I?

"Me…what am I…what do you want…," I feel a twinge of pity for the girl, but only a twinge. Ever since that day in the cafeteria, we've strictly avoided speaking any more than we have to. I suspect the dislike is mutual, which only makes the vague sense of guilt I sometimes get even more annoying.

"Shut up and get your butt up here."

He turns and directs his stare at me. "Both of you."

I roll my eyes slightly and comply, deliberately slouching and lowering my head so my hair falls forward to conceal my face and I can't look at anyone directly.

"What?" Gwyneth evidently realized we have to partner up and starts stuttering in fear. "We're…are we actually supposed to use our powers on _each other_?"

Flames crawl through my veins. I clench my fists and stare at the ground. I'm not looking at her. I don't fucking need to—I already know the look I'll see…wide, terrified eyes which flick to me when she thinks I'm not looking and away when she thinks I am.

"No, on me. Of course you're using your powers on each other."

"Um…," the stuttering, shy _act _might rouse sympathy in anyone else, but not in me. It just makes me want to hurl something—preferably fire, enough to scare all these idiot kids who tiptoe around me, enough for everyone to just _leave me alone…_

"Isn't that unsafe?"

I roll my eyes. It's the only thing which prevents me from flaring up. Of course its unsafe. But it's not me she's worried about. Why would she worry about harming me? No, it's _herself _she's worried about, her fucking self, little Gwyneth Patrick, all scared of the big bad pyrokinetic…and it's people like this who anger me almost as much as the bullies used to, before I could make sure there weren't any of those.

"It's safer than demonstrating on anyone else. He's fire, you're ice. You two are perfect. You can neutralize each other. Well, come on. Both of you, turn and face your partner."

I finally turn, unwillingly, to face Gwyneth. She looks every bit as scared as I _knew she would_, but at least she isn't visibly cowering away from me. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was mainly terrified at being put on the spot.

_But I do know better. Fuck this. _My face twists into a familiar scowl.

"Now, use your powers on each other as if you're in a fight. You shoot ice smoke or whatever it was at Fireboy and he'll power up. Can you manipulate fire?"

I realize Coach Boomer is actually talking to me, which means I have to respond. "I can throw fire," I reply.

"All right. So either you ice him and he powers up or he throws fire at you and you can hit it with your spray and extinguish it. Come on, I haven't got all day."

Gwyneth meets my eyes for the first time. That's when I see something wrong.

Something's off. Something is…just odd.

Her eyes are wide with terror and dread, but yet I don't get the sense that it's directed _at me. _I ought to know—I've seen fear in the eyes of intimidated people long enough to figure that out.

I frown. Why would she be afraid, but not of me? It can't be stage fright—she wasn't this freaked out when she demonstrated her power. This makes no sense. _Everyone _is afraid of me. Why wouldn't Gwyneth be?

I let out a low growl and ignite one hand, deliberately shoving the question back into the recesses of my mind. Whatever it is, I have to do something. And Coach Boomer is right. She can defend herself from me all right.

"No…wait, please…I can't…," the voice ignites a blaze of fury inside me. It's fury at the damn kids who whisper and sneak looks but don't have the balls to look me in the face, and I focus that anger into my flames.

As always, it works like a charm. The angrier I am, the hotter I burn, _and the harder it is to control it. _But that's my mother.

I bring my hand behind my head and harness the flames, condensing them into an incandescent baseball of heat and light and wild, untameable beauty.

The sight of the fear in Gwyneth's eyes pushes aside the last hesitation, and I throw with all my might.

Gwyneth flings up her hands as if to shield herself, and I watch as they turn white, glowing and hissing softly with cold energy. The fireball collides with her hands and I wince, closing my eyes.

A thread of guilt begins putting a damper on my anger. True, Gwyneth obviously can get very, very cold. But what if it wasn't cold enough? Or what if she put out the fire, but it scorched her arms? Then I'd be a menace, _worthless fuckup, son of a killer, just like-_

_Shut. Up._

I open my eyes and stare at Gwyneth in considerable surprise and a little relief, though my face stays carefully blank. Her arms haven't been scorched. Her skin is back to normal, and not red and shiny at all. She does, however, look scared half out of her mind. She's still crouched reflexively, her shaking hands held up over her head as if afraid I'm going to attack her again.

That shuts off my relief, and I turn and stalk back towards my place in line, deciding to just assume I'm dismissed. If Boomer wants me to stay a moment, he can call me. I step back into line and gaze off into space. I do not see Gwyneth staring at me for a moment with equal parts resentment and relief in her eyes.

Wait…no way. _No way._

I'm seeing things. There's no way she would be relieved. What would she have to be relieved about? That I didn't hurt her? If she really knew me, she knew that I'd gladly settle for a little scorching, some singed hair and clothes, but not seared flesh and charred bone, not second or third degree burns, not death. I don't inflict those things on people, even people I hate.

Thinking this, I deliberately look the other way as she begins to stagger back towards the line, almost glaring at me. I'm not in the mood for this.

"You freaking _idiot."_

Oh great. Now I'm going to be treated to a _lecture. _How I could _hurt someone _and I should be more careful. If she's smart, Gwyneth Patrick will stuff a damn sock in it right now.

"I could've ki-I could've seriously hurt you."

What?

"Yeah. Right," I say, but there's no venom in it, because I'm still trying to pick my brain off the floor. What did Gwyneth just say? Did she say she could've killed me? Is _that _what that anger and relief in her eyes meant? Is that why she's upset? She was thinking of…she was _worried about me_?

"I could have _frozen_you, you moron! Why did you have to just throw fire at me like some dumb _hothead_? I could've hit you-,"

"Save it." I'm not sure where all this fury and fear is coming from, but I can't let her go on. If she does, I might actually start believing that Gwyneth really gave a damn about me, that she wouldn't want something bad to happen to me, that she gave a flying fuck in hell whether I lived or died, and that won't do at all. I am not letting her that easily. No fucking way, not like before. That won't happen again.

"_Damn, Peace, you are stupid! I thought you were dumb, but how naïve _are _you? You actually thought…,"_

"Don't flatter me. You were just scared of the big, bad pyro. I wouldn't have gotten hurt any more than you could have. It's not like you could freeze me."

"Well, maybe not if your arms were on fire, but you let go of that fireball-,"

"My _surface_body temperature is 120 degrees, and that's not even half of my core temperature. There's no way." If Gwyneth thinks she can one-up me, she's wrong.

"What?" Gwyneth sounds startled…almost impressed. "That's…pretty cool." If I would have let it, I might have smiled. People have had all sorts of reactions to my powers, from sad pride (my mom) to quiet pleasure (my fucki-ahem, _sorry, _my _father_) to the most common one—abject terror. This is the first time anyone's actually thought my pyrokinesis was actually…cool.

"So to speak." I actually begin the closest thing to a smile I ever usually give. Gwyneth laughs softly at my implied pun and my mouth begins to turn upward, my face opening just a little.

_Stop. _I shove my hands into my pockets as if to remind myself not to get too close. This is where I most need to be careful. Just because she's having a moment of the awe of the comic-book nerd doesn't mean we're going to start buddying up. The kid's made it pretty goddamn clear she doesn't like me, and that's the way it should be. Things have never changed for me since I was seven. Why should I hope for life to get fair now that I've hit high school?

"I'm like that." Gwyneth is whispering, even turning her head a little. "In an opposite way, of course. My mom estimated that my body temperature is about eighty something degrees. Anyone who didn't know me would think I have hypothermia." She pauses, then adds, "That's just my surface body temperature, of course. Not like we could stick a thermometer into my body and measure how cold it is on the inside."

"You're weird." I let out a soft snort to substitute for a laugh. I shouldn't do that if I want to stay safely unapproachable, but sometimes even I want to be able to loosen up. Just for a moment.

A moment later I force myself to rip my eyes away from the blond head in front of me and focus on Coach Boomer. It works, since Gwyneth doesn't speak to me again for the rest of the period.

At the end of class, Gwyneth turns and our eyes meet for a split second.

Then she flushes and hurries through the crowd, mumbling timid "Excuse me"s I could barely hear.

I take a deep breath, try to think of calming things. I should have fucking expected her to be afraid of me. Everyone else here was, even the teachers. It was only because my mother sweated blood to get me enrolled on the Financial Aid track that Principal Powers let me enroll here. Why the hell was this one geeky cryo kid bothering me at all?

_This is __safer_just the way things go when you're the son of a supervillain going to Sky High, of all places. People would always be scared of me, and that was _good. _It was the best I'd ever get, and sure as hell better than the way things used to be. Even if people would never like or trust me, at least I could get them to respect me enough to stay the hell out of my way. Intimidating everyone wasn't the most fun way to live, but it was the only way I could ensure that every single goddamn kid in this school would _leave me alone_. That's all I want, and for now, it's what I've gotten with almost no effort.

_Please don't waste your pity votes on me__  
__I have riches you could never see__  
__So fix your sad eye on someone worthier__  
__I've got somethin' better up my sleeve_

At least I hadn't had to fight for that right, like I had at pretty much every public school I'd ever attended. There, people didn't know who my father was, which compared to the way things are now was absolute paradise—but then I had the muscleheads, the jerks, the idiots who thought they could push me around, that I was an easy target just because I didn't have friends to back me up. But I made damn sure that they learned pretty quickly _just how wrong_ they were about that.

I haven't learned to fight harder and rougher and take hits better than anyone, even before I started getting my mother's powers, for no reason.

I passed through the rest of school as usual—routine, broken only by when I have to pay attention for class—other than that, a zombie-like haze until it came to lunch, and I could sit and read, all by myself. On the first day of school, girls tried three consecutive times to get a seat at my table, until I held up a flaming hand and told them precisely where they might end up if they didn't screw off and bug somebody else. They were exactly like the type of girls who tried to dumb themselves down and worm their way into a conversation with me on a daily basis for the first week.

But finally, they realized I was serious, so they pretty much left me alone. A boy actually tried, right after Gwyneth came, to sit with me. The entire time he was talking, though, clapping me on the shoulder, and making insinuating jabs every other friendly sentence in a happy, "lets be pals" voice. But after he tried to mention my dad twice, I finally just raised my head and looked at him.

He lasted ten seconds before turning rather pale, mumbling some sort of lame apology, and getting up hastily. Of course, the slight smoke I allowed to curl up from my hands through my gloves helped, too. But those were the only tries. After that, everyone seemed to get the message I was trying to send and left me in peace.

_Sing your society song__  
__It never changes__  
__I will not sing along__  
__But how did you get it so wrong?__  
__In a room of strangers__  
__Oh well, I'm glad I don't belong_

I breathe a sigh of relief as I finally climb down off the bus. Ron Wilson doesn't waste any time slamming the doors shut and taking off. My stop is still half a mile from my house, but he probably sees that the neighborhood really isn't that great. But all I think is _safe. _At last, I'm free from all the people who know my father, from the squeaky-clean realm of hypocrisy, a place where I'll never really belong. At least here, I don't feel like I have to put up quite so big a guard. For the first time all day, a tenseness I've kept hidden inside relaxes.

Of course, I don't look relaxed and happy. I keep up a confident, business-like stride, but my look and my reputation around here are enough to keep any petty thief from trying anything. It's not like I have any money, so even if anyone did succeed in robbing me (in which case I'd like to meet that guy), they'd get—a leather jacket I forget the value of and a couple of metal arm rings? How much money would that bring, twenty dollars?

The apartment complex my mom and I have lived in for several years now finally appears and I climb the stairs, my legs aching. Damn, I need to work out some more. School's put me behind on training. I fumble for the key in my jacket pocket and unlock the door.

The apartment is just as I expected—dark and silent, but I enter cautiously and close the door quietly as I can. Mom works two jobs and so gets only a few hours in the afternoon and the six a.m. morning hours to sleep. She's probably home already, and asleep.

I drop my backpack in the living room and start for the hall to our bedrooms ,then bit back an exclamation "Shit!" as I bang my knee on the coffee table for the third time this week. I freeze for a moment, but hearing no sound, I decide it's pretty safe.

I move silently down the hall and peek around the corner of my mom's bedroom. Yes, she's asleep.

My eyes soon adjust to the dim light, and I stand for a moment, watching my mother's face. She looks so calm, as if her last name actually has some meaning. She always appears slightly harried and anxious when she's awake. Being Helena Peace, Titanium, wife of Baron Battle in the wake of Maxville's biggest hero scandal might be enough stress to break any woman less strong than my mother. Rejected by her relatives, alternately fighting for custody of and raising me, has taken a lot out of her and carved lines into her face which never entirely go away unless she's asleep. Even then, they're probably still just visible, but in the dim light, I can't see them, and she looks younger, happier, less knocked around by life—the way she should always look.

I'm not sure I should, but finally, I tiptoe forward. Through the darkness I move to my mother's bedside. She never stirs. Slowly, carefully, I bend down and brush my lips lightly against her cheek.

Mom stirs. Her breathing hitches for a moment, then she relaxes again, eyes still shut in sleep.

"Love you, Mom," I whisper into the soundless room, knowing full well she can't hear me.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_A/N: This is the next part—Warren's POV of Chapter 5. I stupidly forgot that in the last chapter…so here it is. I've decided to take Athena Lesage's advice and alternate. After this chapter, I'll go back to Gwyneth's POV, then to Warren's, and so on, switching every chapter. It'll make it more interesting—and probably better, me having to look at their odd relationship from both sides. To everyone who's kept encouraging me, Flowerchild23, AthenaLesage, Rosaliehale, etc., muchas gracias!_

**Warren (cont):**

The locker room reeks of sweat and mildew. It always hits like a punch in the face when I first walk in, but I get used to it the longer I'm in there. However, this time, I hardly even notice the stench or the jostling guys around me. I'm too busy recalling what just happened in gym class and why the _hell…_

It started out just like the day before, with the only change being Coach Boomer's declaration that we would have longer practice sessions with each other. I started to zone out again, but then forced myself to pay attention when Coach Boomer began picking partners.

The fights were actually kind of interesting to watch—I kept making mental commentaries in my head, noting the kids who made good use of their powers, and those who defended themselves well. The good use of powers was a pretty good factor in both of the first two pairs I watched—the self-defense, not so much.

Of course, it must be tough to grab an opponent who runs at supersonic speed, but if you have elastic limbs, the one thing to do is trip him. Even I could probably do that just by sticking out my foot. I couldn't really see all that well, but I kind of sensed that the supersonic kid wasn't watching himself carefully enough for that. He did have the advantage, but what if someone was cleverer than a high school freshman?

Coach Boomer drew another slip out of his hat and read, "Emily Braun." A skinny girl with short choppy hair stepped out of the crowd and moved up to the front with a confidence that made me watch her more closely. She carried herself with the confidence and at the same time, the alertness of someone used to looking out for themselves. Her piercing eyes zip around the room, scanning, taking in everything. I can literally see the gears turning, analyzing, taking stock of the situation.

I smiled inwardly and nodded to myself. This could be good. Her next opponent might have to watch his or her back.

"And Warren Peace."

_Great. _My shoulders tightened with suppressed irritation, but then I thought of getting to use my fire, and a fierce joy I could never restrain blazed up in my body. I always had to be so careful to hide my powers, when I was volunteering at the Paper Lantern, in public on weekends. Now I got to enjoy the one benefit I had here at Sky High—freedom to burn.

I loved it.

I'm not a pyromaniac. Just because watching things explode or burn fascinates me…but then again, everybody does. At least to some extent. I'm a fire wielder, what do you want? At least I have a good excuse, and I never burn if it'll cause property damage. That's natural enough.

I step up to the front, ignoring the stares and whispers as I allow the temperature to climb a few degrees in my hands and forearms. Passing all the other students, I come to stand beside my partner and Coach Boomer.

"Um…," I hear Emily's voice and almost growl with frustration. Jesus, do they all think I'm going to kill them or something?

"What's wrong with you?" Coach Boomer is clearly annoyed and not in the mood for more hesitation. Can't exactly blame him for that. "You saw the ice girl face off with him, and she didn't die."

"Yeah, but she's…she has-," I glance to the right and see Emily's face, so white every freckle stands out. She looks like she's contemplating a spectacular projectile vomit. Great. My earlier respect for her vanishes. Even if she has any talent, she sure doesn't have the guts to match it. What does she think she's going to be facing? Puppies? There's no question but that she's afraid of me. Her eyes meet mine for only an instant, and all I see is an agonizing sea of pure fear. It's like I'm everything she's ever been scared of.

"Relax. Man up. You've got electricity, right?"

Coach Boomer's obnoxious voice helps shake me out of a red haze. I breathe through my nose, short puffs like my mother told me. _Just breathe, count to ten. It'll help you control your temper. _Counting ten doesn't have some magic by itself—it just gives me time to think about what I'm doing, why I'm angry, and to cool down before I lose my head. Sometimes it works.

"Use it on the Human Torch here."

_Better than the flamethrower, _my brain remarked. I decided to just move on and turned to face my white-faced opponent.

"REEAADY…SET…GO!"

I ignite one of my hands and take careful aim. It might not be smart, but I'll give the girl a second to power up. Boomer said something about electricity…maybe I should watch my step. If I push her, she could turn out nasty.

She doesn't power up, though. Instead she backs away a step or two, eyes wide, fixed on my hand with almost feverish concentration.

I decide I've waited long enough. I raise my arm, wind up like I'm throwing a baseball, and release. Emily Braun jumps to the side barely in time to avoid it. My fireball blasts into the floor, leaving a black smoking crater. Oops.

"Fight back, damn it!" My voice is sharp, angry from years of cringing glances and isolation, all of which is about to come out onto this kid.

That makes me think. I suddenly imagine my mother watching, and I falter for a split second.

Emily starts to jump, hesitates.

I throw another fireball and Emily jumps—thankfully, to the right, because I deliberately missed by a foot or so to her left. Her biggest risk was jumping into the fire in an attempt to avoid it. Maybe it's stupid, but I'm going to give her one more chance to start growing a goddamn spine. If she doesn't take this hint, I'm done.

"Fight _back_!" I aim a little closer, but still to miss. Yet Emily only cringes and launches a wild blast of electrical energy which misses me by about a yard. She glances out of her arms and I fire up again with a growl.

The sight makes her turn tail and run, and that only infuriates me. Flames build, higher and hotter than ever, but I put all my concentration into my aim, blasting fire after my fleeing opponent. If she fucking fought back, if she would have the guts to stand and _face me_-

Emily ducks behind the bleachers just as I hurl flames at her. My strike hits the bleachers instead, and I hear the crunch and cracking of falling metal and plastic.

Horror makes me freeze, and my flames die in an instant. I stand in the middle of a lacquered-board wilderness, and all I can see is the cloud of dust.

_I could have just killed her. One second and I might have killed someone. God, if that kid dies…_

My fault. All my fault. My powers got away from me, just like my mom always warned me.

"_Just be careful, Warren. Abilities like yours…they come with responsibility. Fire uncontrolled destroys and kills, but when it's curbed and guided, fire can be the greatest tool of man…"_

"_Be careful not to let your anger get away from you, or you could wind up doing something you'll regret…," _Fuck. Holy shit…I'd done exactly what she'd told me never to do. I'd lost control, maybe killed-

I saw three girls running towards the crater in the bleachers, leaning in. One or two of them were yelling, "Emily! Are you okay?"

"No, goddamn it!" I started at the sound of the faint voice coming from within the hole. Please God, let me be sane...

"Are you okay? Oh my God!" One of the girls starts babbling, relief and fear making her sound almost hysterical.

The scarecrow figure of my opponent slowly emerges from the crater, covered in dust but obviously all right, and I hear clapping behind me. I can't talk or look. Relief makes me feel almost weak. I came so close to crossing the line.

"It's not over yet!" Coach Boomer's voice startles me into turning around. What the hell is he talking about?

"The time is not up yet!" Coach Boomer points over my shoulder, presumably at the four girls. "Noncombatants, out of the fight! You have fifteen more seconds!"

I give him a look. "Um, Coach? Are you-,"

"Did I ask for your commentary?" Coach Boomer points at me. "The fight isn't done yet. Now keep going! Noncombatants, get your behinds _out of the way_!"

I hesitate. He is the coach, but…but after nearly getting stuck with murder on my hands, I'm not anxious to take any more risks.

Reluctantly, I give in to the flames, allow them to blaze up and down my arms. I turn to face the four girls, who freeze at the sight. One of them is Gwyneth, I vaguely notice, but I'm mainly focused on where I can aim so it will seem like I missed.

One of the girls takes off—literally shoots into the air, but the others stand their ground. Surprisingly, it's the shortest one of the bunch who steps forward.

"Don't do it. I'll give you ten seconds-,"

"Out of the FIGHT!" Coach Boomer bellows, blowing my flames out and knocking all three girls off their feet.

I power up again, but I wait until at least one of them-Emily, struggles to her feet. I aim for a spot right near her, just near enough to singe but not burn.

"Ten seconds left!"

"No…please…," the voice of the trembling girl before me gets my attention. I stare through narrowed eyes. She's still looking at me with pleading eyes, her face tight as if in pain or concentration.

I breathe in. I take aim, release a breath. I focus on my target, and throw.

Suddenly a blue and white figure leaps in front of the frozen girl, who is already stumbling backwards. I barely have time to see them before the other girl flings out her hands and unleashes icy spray from her hands with the most unearthly scream I've ever heard.

The fireball vanishes in a familiar cloud of steam which fades slowly, drifting upward into the air.

Gwyneth stands in the middle of all that steam, partly obscured so she looks like a skinny ghost. Her unfocused eyes seem almost blind, or crazy, and they glow so that I can actually tell their color for the second time.  
And she's not even standing that close to me.  
I stare harder at the scrawny cryokinetic. I always thought she was just a nerd, kind of awkward, undersized, not in the least dangerous. But seeing her face and her powers makes me, for the first time, wonder how true that was.  
Then her eyes snap back into focus. She's almost panting, looking shaken and kind of freaked out, as if the display of power scares her more than it did anyone else.  
_Hmm.__  
_"TIMES UP!" I actually forgot about Coach Boomer for a second. "Patrick! Get over here NOW!"  
I pull my gaze away from Gwyneth and head back towards the line. I like Gwyneth's guts for stepping in front of me, but if Coach Boomer's tone is anything to go by, she's _seriously_ in for it. I've gotten involved enough for one day.

I get back in line, but then I see Gwyneth walking up, coming to stand in front of Coach Boomer. She's at least a foot shorter, but she looks as if she's actually glaring at him.

"What the hell was that, Patrick? I told you to get out of the way! Are you deaf?"

Seeing the way Gwyneth has reacted under pressure so far, I half-expect her to start stuttering and making excuses. She doesn't.

She doesn't say much of anything, actually, just clenches her fists and stares right back at the coach. She actually looks—_angry. _Her blue eyes are practically glowing like she's trying to hold back a wave of fury just as big as one of mine.

I keep watching with increasing interest. This is totally out of character. Gwyneth ought to be afraid. She ought to be anxious to get out of trouble. She sure acted like that around me. But now I see none of that.

"Speak up! What do you have to say for yourself?"

Gwyneth stares hard at him.

Well? I told you to get out of the way and not interfere with the practice fight and you deliberately disobeyed me!"

Gwyneth stares harder at him. Which only makes Coach Boomer more pissed.

"Well? Got anything to say for yourself?"

Then, Gwyneth finally speaks up. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

My eyes widen in surprise. She doesn't sound like she's thinking of an apology. But I've got to be insane if that shy violet is going to mouth off to Coach Boomer, of all people.

"Well, spit it out."

"I think that you are—you could have gotten a student—no, _my friend,_seriously hurt or KILLED!" Gwyneth's voice rises drastically with the last sentence until she practically shouts the last word.

I resist the urge to rub my eyes or pinch myself. I've seen a lot of crazy things at this school—I _am_ one of those crazy things. But…what the _hell?_

This is just freaking weird. Gwyneth's friend—obviously, that's the girl I attacked, Emily. It makes sense for her to be just a little ticked off about her friend nearly getting scorched. But then why isn't she taking out her frustration on me? I'm the one who actually _threw fire _at her. Why is she yelling at Coach Boomer?

"Are you questioning my judgement? You think a real villain would go soft on any one of you just cause you just graduated from high school?"

"Don't worry about it, Gwyneth." Emily's voice cuts in on the argument. She starts walking towards the gym door a little too slowly, holding her arm in an odd way. I remember all the falling debris and realize she must have hurt it somehow.

_My fault._

I scowl and order the guilt aside.

"I'm fine. I don't need your help. I just…I'm going to the nurse," she mumbles the last bit and hurries towards the door.

"Oh, your arm was just broken, maybe, and you don't need my help?!" Gwyneth's voice.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait. Where do you think you're going?" Coach Boomer holds up a hand.

"I'm going to the nurse." Emily stops and turns to practically spit the words at him. "I think I broke my arm. Debris…or something must've fallen on me when the bleachers…got collapsed."

_My fault._

_Wasn't much I could do, was there? I didn't see she was injured. I just thought she was scared, and Coach said it wasn't over…wait. Is that why Gwyneth's pissed at him? Must be. But why not me?_

"Your arm?...Oh." Coach Boomer actually sounds a little guilty, which almost brings a smile to my face. "Well, go to the Nurse's office. She'll fix you up."

"May I go with her?" One of the other girls steps a little closer. She looks much more nervous than Gwyneth, and I see her jerk her head towards the door—an obvious signal to get Gwyneth to leave with them before she gets herself in any deeper.

"What's the matter with you?" Coach Boomer points at her. "You're all right. Class isn't over."

"But I want to go with her."

"Me, too." The shorter girl, the one who actually challenged me, steps up next to her friend. She doesn't look nearly as scared. I have to admit, that kid seems to have more balls than all her friends put together.

Well, if you don't count Gwyneth who…I really just don't get right now.

"Well, you can go visit her after class. Be late, I don't care. But when you're in my class, you obey my rules. My word is law here."

Gwyneth stalks toward the line, muttering something I can't hear, but Coach Boomer obviously does.

"What was that?"

Gwyneth turns around. Coach Boomer steps closer to her.

"Don't tell me it was nothing. I heard you say something. If you've got anything to say to me, speak up and say it."

Gwyneth's voice actually shakes a little, but I realize it's from anger, not fear. "I've got something to say. You're act like it's no big deal that you nearly made Warren _kill _my friend and I hate that."

I frown darkly. Brave or not, Gwyneth's pretty stupid if she thinks I'd kill Emily even if Coach Boomer had actually told me to, which kind of puts a damper of my feelings of admiration.

"Is that all?" Coach Boomer stares at the small student, his eyes hard.

"I just don't think it's a good idea for a gym teacher to let his kids get _hurt _when they're in his class."

Coach Boomer's eyes widen and he nods in sarcastic thoughtfulness. "Is that right?"

_Oh, shit._

"Well, I don't think it's a good idea to hear your smart mouth in this class." The sarcastic smile disappears from his face. "Go to Principal Powers' office. NOW!"

Gwyneth turns and slowly walks toward the door, eyes glowering at the floor, not looking at anyone. I force myself not to stare at her, but even when I'm changing in the locker room, I still can't get that face out of my damn head.

Why the hell would Gwyneth be so scared when it came to facing me herself—and then just jump into the same situation the next day? Okay, that one would be easy to answer—her friend. But mouthing off to Coach Boomer immediately afterward—since when did Gwyneth mouth off to anybody? She barely seemed to have the guts to talk to me. Is she that terrified?

_It wasn't you she was afraid of yesterday, _I conveniently remember.

I just shake my head, trying not to wonder how Gwyneth's doing in the Principal's office.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_The cartoon reference I make in here is of a Calvin and Hobbes cartoon. Couldn't resist._

**Gwyneth**

After I'd collected my things, left the gym and my haze of anger began wearing off, the fear began setting in. What in the name of all things holy (which of course boils down to all things Batman) had I just done? I'd told off Coach Boomer—and gotten sent to Principal Powers. _Principal Powers. _I was going _to the principal's office._

Holy mother of _God…_my mom was going to _kill_ me.

Okay, maybe she wouldn't actually _kill_. But I could probably count on being chained to my bed for the rest of my natural life span, with just the slightest possibility of her lengthening the chain so it went to the living room…after about two hundred years.

I wasn't a goody-two-shoes…okay, not a _complete _goody-two-shoes (hey, it's not my fault my interests happen to extend to such violent things as musicals and lengthy, lengthy books) but I'd never been to the Principal's office. The biggest trouble I'd ever gotten in while at school was probably the time I called Jared Gibson a stupid mean poophead because he said Santa wasn't real. (Yes, that actually happened. Plus, he was my third-grade arch-nemesis, okay? I was only _eight._ Extenuating circumstances, people.)

But this…this was serious. I never got in trouble, real trouble at school. I didn't even have the nerve to put up a game face in front of a crowd of kids. Yet just a minute ago I'd totally forgotten myself and every ounce of self-control, unable to do anything but let Coach Boomer know what I thought. How had I even…? What the heck had just happened?

Emily, a crazy but awesome girl, and already a good friend of mine, had almost died because of another student—because of Warren freaking Peace. And the teacher who should have stopped the practice fight before it went too far hadn't done a thing. That's what _happened._

_I was right, _a silent voice murmured. _Even if it was disrespectful, I was right. He shouldn't have done that. Emily could have gotten killed. She WOULD have if I hadn't stepped in, and Coach Boomer yelled at me for it?! Bull. That's a load of horse crap. Aren't we supposed to be training to protect and serve, not maim and murder? I did what I should have done. I just wanted to protect my friend. If she'd been disabled, or a powerless citizen, I'd get praised for doing what I did._

_Apparently, nobody told Coach Boomer that. _There was just the slightest possible chance that Principal Powers might take my side. After all, she was the freaking _Principal. _She was supposed to _protect _the kids at her school, wasn't she? She wouldn't like it if anyone got hurt. But would she take my side over a teacher's if the issue came up…like right now?

The hall seemed unusually long and empty to a scared and anxious freshman who was in trouble and knew it. I once saw a cartoon where a little girl walks down a vast corridor towards a claustrophobically small door, looking like the loneliest person in the world. _I think they make the hallways to the Principal's office this big on purpose, _she'd said.

Yeah, that fit just about right.

Coach Boomer should have made sure I knew how to get to the principal's office, cause by the time I found it, the bell rang and I could hear kids moving down the distant halls. Great. As if getting sent to the principal wasn't bad enough, now I was going to be late for my next class. I walked to the door which said SCHOOL OFFICE and knocked very quietly.

"Come in," said a female voice. I gulped. Even though I wanted to bolt, I reached for the knob and slowly opened the door. When I took my hand away, I realized the knob was covered in a light dusting of frozen condensation. Apparently I'd just lent a whole new meaning to _cold sweat_.

I swallowed hard and stepped into the room.

The head bowed over a desk seemed unfamiliar until she lifted it and I gulped again as I recognized Principal Powers. She wore a dark suit this time, and horn-rimmed glasses.

"Sit down, Gwyneth," she said in a voice that sounded very calm and not mean, but yet still had just the edge to it that made me automatically sink down into one of the chairs and slide my backpack off my shoulders. I tried to lower it gently to the ground but the _thump _with which it hit still seemed ominously loud. "Coach Boomer told me you were coming."

My stomach flip-flops, but at the same time, I feel a bit relieved that I won't have to explain everything. But then I think—what exactly did Boomer tell her?

The only smart thing I can think of to say is, "Um-how?"

"The teachers all have walkie-talkies." Principal Powers takes off her glasses and fixes me with a probing stare. "He tells me you jumped into a demonstration fight when you weren't supposed to, and then you talked back to him."

My stomach clenches, but at the same time resentment and anger flares up. _Well, I did. So what? If I hadn't, someone could have gotten hurt or killed. The coach went too far. That's why I did it._

"I would be interested to hear your side of the story."

I stare for a moment. I almost can't believe this. "You…would?"

"Yes. At this school, we do not condone disrespecting the teachers, but I'm rather curious as to why you felt you had to interrupt a practice fight. People don't do that for no reason."

My mouth actually falls open but I close it. I was actually prepared to be lectured, not to be listened to. I didn't imagine that the principal would want to hear my side of things.

I recovered and swallowed. I don't want to sound like I'm being a whiny brat, or go off on a rant about reckless teachers, but it's hard.

_Count ten. One. Two. Three. Four._

I feel my breathing slowing down, my thoughts becoming clearer.

_Five. Six. Seven. Eight._

I try to sort out how to begin.

_Nine. Ten._

"Coach Boomer was right." My voice sounds small and rather feeble. "I did jump in the fight. But he didn't tell you why."

"I'm aware of that." Principal Powers gives the faintest smile and a slightly pointed look. "I was hoping perhaps you could tell me that."

I swallow hard. "Um-,"

"It's all right." Principal Powers folds her arms on the table. "I am here to listen. Just continue."

I clench my hands around my knees and breathe deep, calm beginning to take over. "My-my friend Emily-Emily Braun, she's really awesome-she got picked to be one of the people in a practice fight. Warren Peace-not sure if you know who that is-,"

"I am quite aware of who Mr. Peace is." Principal Powers said dryly. "Please go on."

I nod, relaxing further. "He got picked to be the other-her partner. They were supposed to fight for-I think, ten minutes." I nod again, Principal Powers' intent face giving me the courage to keep going.

"Warren started—throwing fire at her. He was supposed to do that, to be fair. But Emily—she's a technopath, so she could-build something or shock him. But she didn't." I hesitated. This would be a bit harder to describe. "She—I think she was scared of Warren. Emily doesn't usually get like that. She doesn't back down, she doesn't take crap-,"

I clap a hand over my mouth. Good Lord, I just said crap in front of the principal!

Principal Powers smiled dryly. "It's all right, Miss Patrick. I've heard quite a few four-letter words worse than that in my time as a high-school principal," she said dryly. "I think I can handle that one."

My face got hot and itchy and I tried not to squirm. "Um-okay. Like I said, she doesn't take—anything, from anybody. But when Warren started throwing fireballs at her, she freaked out."

I hesitated. "Although, I don't know for sure if it was _him_ she was scared of."

"Why not?"

My face flushes. Now I can't believe I'm repeating this, but I walked right into it. Despite how much it embarrasses me to remember, I mumble, "She said he was hot on the first day of school."

Principal Powers' mouth twitched. She coughed elegantly—though it sounded more like a smothered laugh than anything. But that didn't make sense, surely.

"I see. Please continue."

I nodded, still blushing furiously, and continue. "But then when he started throwing stuff-fire-at her, she totally freaked out. It was like she'd forgotten how to fight, and she didn't even try to use her powers-okay, she did, like one or two times, but she didn't hit him-Warren. And then she ran behind the bleachers-he was chasing her, so she ran, and ducked behind the bleachers, and he threw a fireball at the bleachers, and they collapsed."

I took a breath for the first time in what felt like minutes. I hadn't even known what to say, but the events of the last class were all spilling out of me in a vast rush.

Principal Powers' eyes widened. "On your friend?"

"Yes." I take a deep breath. I can still see the collapsing rubble, the cloud of choking dust which went up, the horrible sound that made my heart jump into my throat.

The principal's lips tightened into a grim line. "I see. What happened next?"

Oh, crap. I had a feeling something was about to snap, but I spoke nervously. "I…my friends and I ran over to see if Emily was okay. And she was—sort of. She climbed out of the hole in the bleachers, but she was hurt. I think something fell on her arm—she was holding it. But then Coach Boomer-," I breathe deeply so I won't start getting too angry again.

"He-he said the time wasn't up yet, we still had fifteen seconds." I remember something. "Warren actually asked him-I think if he was crazy or something. But he-Coach Boomer, I mean, just told us to get out of the way. 'Noncombatants out of the fight.'" I accidentally mimick him in a bitter tone, then I glance nervously back up at Principal Powers' face, which is inscrutable.

"Sorry. Anyway. Um, I didn't want to, but then he yelled something and it actually knocked us all off our feet. Warren started to aim a gigantic fireball right at Emily-," I have to pause to clench my shaking hands. "I couldn't let him throw it at her."

"Pardon me," Principal Powers interrupted. "But wouldn't she be able to at least run? Was she running?"

"No." I could hardly believe it, looking back, but Emily had just _stood _there, eyes wide, frozen in mind-numbing terror, cowering, staring at Warren, but not doing a thing to fight back, not even to run when she could have easily tried to escape.

"No, she didn't. I don't think she _could. _She just looked up at Warren and froze. It was like she couldn't move. I think she was…too scared to even try to run."

There is silence for so long, I'm afraid to look up at the principal.

"I see," she said at last. "Go on."

I swallow uncomfortably. I'm doing the right thing and telling the truth, but I still sense I'm making some kind of mistake.

"I—I didn't really think about what I was doing. I just knew I had to keep her from getting hurt, so I—sort of jumped in between Emily and Warren." I swallow. "I…hit his fireball with my-I'm a cryokinetic, and I can sort of shoot out this icy spray from my hands that turns things to ice-or in this case, extinguishes fire. And I hit his fireball with that and it put it out."

I get the feeling Principal Powers is about to say something. To forestall it I quickly keep talking. "Anyway, so Coach Boomer told me to come over and started yelling at me about disobeying him and I-I didn't say anything at first because I didn't want to be stupid. But then he asked what I had to say for myself and I told him-," I winced. "I said I thought it-um, wasn't a good idea for a gym teacher to let his students get hurt-possibly-or…worse. And it kind of escalated…he told me to go to your office. And I did."

Finally, I take a breath and fold my hands in my lap, unsure whether to keep staring at the desk or look at the principal. She doesn't say anything for a moment except, "I see."

"This is what happened?"

I finally look her in the eye as steadily as I can. I've often heard the eyes are the window to the soul. And maybe if I don't seem like I'm afraid to look at her, she'll see I'm telling the truth. "Yes ma'am."

Principal Powers nods, slowly. She purses her lips, as if thinking. My stomach starts knotting again.

"I see."

Her face clears and she gives me a small smile. "You have a different class now, don't you?"

My eyes widen. Where is she going with this? Am I going to get detention? Suspended? What-"Yes-yes, ma'am."

"Which class?"

"Um-Superhero Ethics. Mr. Ray's my teacher."

Principal Powers nods, then reaches for a small plastic container and produces a slip of paper. She writes for a second. "How do you spell your name?"

"Um-G-W-Y-N-E-T-H. My last name is-pretty easy…,"

"Yes, I know." She hands me the slip and I stare at a freshly written late pass. "Go to your next class. I won't punish you this time, seeing as it's your first time being in trouble—and the somewhat mitigating circumstances."

My mouth falls open for the second time since I've been in her office. I don't even realize until Principal Powers gives me a wry smile. "You know, you might catch flies like that."

"Oh." I blush and close my mouth with a snap. "Uh, sorry." I glance from the pass to the principal who simply sits, smiling slightly at me. "You mean…wait, I can go to my next class? Just like that? I'm not in _trouble?_"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Principal Powers' smile takes on a bit of a grim tone. "I'll have to call your parents and tell them what happened. But if they're understanding, you shouldn't get anything more than a very mild lecture. And I'll be sure to tell them all the facts."

"Oh." My stomach sinks for the millionth time today—but then I think of the last thing she just said and relax a little. Maybe it won't be so bad. After all, if ten or fifteen minutes in the principal's office is the worst thing that's going to happen to me, I'm _lucky. _And if Principal Powers thought I had "mitigating circumstances", my parents would think the same thing. They had to. Hopefully.

"Do you have to call them?"

"I always call the parents when a student comes in for disciplinary action, however mild." She smiles grimly again. "However, you shouldn't be in much more trouble at home. Now run along, Gwyneth. You don't want to miss all of your next class, you know."

My eyes get huge. I can't think of an intelligent response, so I simply nod dumbly, pick up my backpack from the floor, stand up, and slowly walk out.

Just before the door thuds shut, I hear Principal Powers' clear voice, "Hello? Coach Boomer? Yes, I'm fine. Would you come to my office when you're free, please?"

Walking down the halls feels so strange when everyone is in class. Everything seems empty and still but I can feel how many people are actually around. But then as I walk down the hall, I feel a sense of incredible lightness, and freedom. And then, a smile actually stretches across my face and I try not to laugh out loud. _I didn't get in trouble! _I went to the Principal's office, and she believed me! She actually listened to my side, and she didn't automatically dismiss it! I hadn't felt truly _awesome _ in a long time, but right then, I felt I had my confidence back.

Then I had an even better thought, and I grinned. _Coach Boomer _was going to the Principal's office! I'm probably a terrible person, but right now, I'm really wishing I could be there for that conversation.

I wonder if Emily could install a hidden camera in Principal Powers' office?

A solid orange chest nearly collides with mine around the corner, and I find myself practically nose to nose with Chris Collins and the stretchy kid—Lash. My heart skips, then slows down to a normal rate. I don't know these two very well, but they seem pretty cool. Yet part of me wonders what they're doing out of class. Together.

"Hey, Ice Princess." Lash grins, stepping closer.

"Hey," I say as coolly as possible, trying not to correct him too suddenly. "Actually—my name's Gwyneth."

"Cool." Chris Collins steps closer and I suddenly feel a bit uncomfortable, though I smile at them, trying to still look casual and friendly.

"That was pretty impressive what you did back there." Lash grins at me and I grin back. He's really cute. He truly is, and I can't help but feel a little flattered that somebody thought what I did was impressive.

"Yeah…it was, uh, nothing." I shrug.

"Yeah, well, you know, someone like you could be pretty helpful. You could be a pal, help us out." Lash is still smiling at me, leaning against the wall, but it somehow feels less friendly.

"Um…I'd really love to," I say. "But right now I really have to go to class."

The two boys exchange glances. Then Chris Collins gives me a small smile. "Cool," he says. "But we'll catch you later."

They show no signs of moving, so I walk by, trying not to notice their eyes still on me, or the whispers I can't quite hear.


End file.
